Encrypted Legacy
by Nix707
Summary: A serial killer . . . an investigation. Will Harm and Mac be able to identify the killer before someone at JAG is murdered? And is there any hope for romance between our favorite pair . . .? COMPLETE
1. Heads or Tails

**Murder in Washington**

0134

The Silver Slipper

Washington DC

It was a cold night, unusually cold for May. The stars had thrown their blanket over the night sky long ago when Lt. Commander Ray Baron stumbled out of the Silver Slipper, almost too drunk to stand. He stopped for a moment and bent over the trashcan and spilt his insides for the world to see, oblivious to the figure standing behind him.

Lt. Commander Baron raised his head from the inside of the trashcan and wiped his mouth with his sleeve and turned around. His vision was blurry, every color was melting into each other, but something brought him out of reverie. Something very sharp, and very fatal.

Baron doubled backwards, his hand instantly clutching his stomach where suddenly a very dark red liquid was freely flowing. Baron staggered to the wall before sliding down to the ground. The figure stood there, watching, a long forgotten smile suddenly blessing their lips.

Baron looked up, again his vision blurry. He was seeing two. Were there two? No, they were too similar. It was one person. But who? And then suddenly, the two pictures collided and Baron's eyes opened wide in shock.

"You . . ." he mumbled as the beat in his heart dangerously slowed. "You're dead."

The figure smiled, a small devilish smile, looking misplaced on their features. "Was." And with that, the figure took one step forward and dug the knife once more into Baron . The Lt. Commander never even had time to scream.

* * *

"Very impressive, Commander," I replied, not even glancing up from the Everest shaped mountain of files on my desk. "Only nine minutes and twenty-three seconds late." I look up to be greeted with the golden flyboy grin. "You're getting better."

"I wouldn't be grinning so smugly if I were you, Colonel," replied Commander Harmon Rabb, Jr. leaning against the frame of my office door. "I'm not the one who has to climb the Appalachians to look over her desk."

"And what makes you think that you won't have an equally large pile awaiting you in your office?" I shot back, cocking one eyebrow up and placing god knows what file on my desk. I want to hear the answer to this one.

"Because _I_," he replied with as much emphasis as possible, "am going on an investigation."

I stand up so fast that I knock over my 'finished' pile and the files spill all over my desk and some drop on the floor. Harm looked down at the files and grinned before strolling out of the office. "Have fun!" he called from halfway down the bullpen.

What the hell? I quickly exit my office and walk through the bullpen, ignoring the fact that Harriet is calling me from her computer table. "Tiner," I say, half shout, slapping the desk to get his attention. "May I see the Admiral?"

"Uh, I'm not sure, ma'am," Petty Officer Jason Tiner replied quickly standing up. "Commander Rabb just left and—"

"Never mind, Tiner," I replied quickly, shutting him up effectively. I stride forward and open the door to Admiral AJ Chegwidden's office. "Sir, I was wondering if I could talk to you about . . ."

And words just utterly fail me as I see Commander Sturgis Turner sitting in one of the leather chairs across the desk from the Admiral. Sturgis turns around and he's looking about as mystified as the Admiral is, though showing it in a much politer way. Chegwidden looks just plain mad.

"Colonel!" he barked from behind his desk. "Is there a fire in the office?"

"No, sir."

"Anyone dying?"

"No, sir."

"Are you or anyone else in mortal danger?"

"No, sir."

"Then why the hell are you in my office?"

_I wish I could remember. _

"Colonel!" he barks.

"I'm sorry, sir," I stutter and I can tell I'm falling to pieces before their eyes. It wouldn't be so bad if it was just the Admiral and Sturgis there, but I now realize as I look across the room that who else should be there in the corner with an amused grin plastered to his face than Harmon Rabb? I inwardly groan. I am never going to live this down.

"It's just that Commander Rabb was informing me about an investigation and I do believe that I could be of more use to you involved with that rather than the paperwork," I state, desperately trying to salvage whatever dignity I have left.

The Admiral's eyebrow shoots up and I can tell immediately that it's bad news for me. "Is paperwork beneath your high standards, Colonel?" he replies, his eyes narrowing. God, I can't hear or see him but I can feel Harm laughing. However his face masks perfect professionalism and it's that that drives me up the wall. Who am I kidding? Just plain simple Harm drives me up the wall.

"No, sir," I reply, a bit more forcefully than I had intended. I'm beginning to get my rhythm back, but it still feels like I've just been sent to the principal's office for talking in class. "I just think that I could provide a more valuable service to you if I was to aid in the investigation."

God, I phrased that beautifully. Pretty good for someone whose babbling so much that at this point they can't even remember their own birthday. I kind of pause for a moment . . . hoping. The Admiral's standing up now with his arms folded across his chest. And he's thinking, his eyebrows furrowed in a not-so-angry frown.

"Have you taken a particular interest in the case, Colonel?"

I kind of feel the voice catch in my throat but I don't dare slip up. No, I've embarrassed myself too much already. But, of course, that's no saving me from Harm. He knows I'm at absolute ground zero when it comes to knowledge on this case. "Well, sir, I just feel I would like to be involved."

"Hmm," the Admiral grunts. "Well, I had initially assigned both Commander Rabb and Commander Turner to this investigation, but Commander Turner has just informed me that he will be unable to go because of his brother's wedding."

"You have a brother?" I interrupt and then realize what I've said, or more like, where I said it and who I said it in front of. 'Why can't I just keep my mouth shut for one second?' I ask myself. _This must be what it feels like to be Harm._

"Yes," replied Sturgis steadily, voice even. "Half brother, we don't talk much but hopefully my attendance at his wedding will be the first step towards the reparation."

"Well, good luck with that Commander," the Admiral breathed as he leaned back in his chair. "Commander, you brief the Colonel and get your bags packed. I have a feeling your staying in Washington is going to be anything but short."

* * *

0947

Somewhere in Washington

The figure slowly wiped the blood of the knife, taking careful care to stroke it just right, polishing it clean and free of any sign of the deaths it had inflicted upon others. Slowly, the figure stood up and walked over to desk, bare except for the one small slip of paper tucked into the corner. With grim satisfaction, the figure picked up a pencil and scratched a name of the list. The name was BARON. And it was the fifth on the list.


	2. Both Sides of the Bed

**Heads or Tails**

"Harm," she whispers as we exit the Admiral's office. I grin kind of wildly. God, did I have fun in there. And Mac knows it. I also know that Mac's as mad as hell at me for it. But that doesn't bother me. I know my Marine better than anyone and she'll get over it. My Marine's fiery, willful, and, as she just forcefully reminded me as she slams her fist into my arm, very painful.

"Ow . . . Jesus, Mac, what was that for?" I whisper fiercely as we enter the bullpen. I clasp my arm with my other hand in the pretense that it actually hurt. I screw up my face in mock pain and Mac just raises an eyebrow in response. She knows she could never hurt me. I know it too. At least, she can't physically.

"For being a smart ass," she replied and walks ahead of me, into her office. I look around but no one is even looking at us. They're all far too accustomed to us fighting. Even Mac and I have gotten used to it. We don't take it personally anymore. In fact, we sort of enjoy fighting.

I approach her office and lean myself against her door. I really like doing that. Especially against her door. It's just no fun doing it in front of your own, and besides, you don't have anyone to look at. And no one nearly as pretty as Mac.

_Did I just think that? Snap out of it flyboy. Or she'll have a real reason to punch you next time._

"Hey, Mac," I say, the words still forming in my mind.

"Yes, _Commander," _she says, and she doesn't look up from her computer screen, her fingers suddenly zigzagging all over the keyboard. I know she's mad at me, and this time she won't even look up so I can grace her with my smile.

"Look, we're expected in Washington by no later than tomorrow afternoon, so . . . do you want to come over to my house for dinner?"

That gets her eyes unglued from the screen.

"I mean, so I can brief you and everything," I stammer in response to that never ending cocked eyebrow. "The Admiral said that I should brief you and with that mountain of paperwork, we'll never be able to do it at the office."

"It's just a debriefing, Harm," she stated. "It takes less than five minutes." And then she smiles that little devilish smile that goes so well on her face. "I think I can squeeze you in."

"Yeah . . ." I reply. I'm grasping at straws. "But it's better that you at least get a look at the files before we go there. And you've got to agree with me on this one, you've got more than enough files right here."

She exhales slowly and for some reason I'm nervous. I don't know why, it's Mac. I have nothing to be nervous about. But I am and I can only hope to God that it doesn't show.

"Yeah, okay," she replied looking at me. "What time?"

"Say seven," I replied and I unlatch myself from her door.

"Alright," she replies and she flashes me a smile. A smile that's so original it has to be Sarah Mackenzie's.

(Yesterday)

CIA Building

Langley, VA

Clayton Webb sat motionless, staring at the computer screen. The sun filtered in through his window, even though the blinds were closed. The window was fastened securely in place. It was cold outside, too cold for May. They suspected snow that night. But, of course, weather was never the thing on Clayton Webb's mind.

It couldn't be happening. Not again. It was in his past. It had to be. But it wasn't. Webb knew it the second he had set his eyes upon the computer screen. He was back. It was almost impossible, it was against all odds, but despite that, he really was back.

Slowly, he sat up a little in his revolving office chair and propped his feet on his desk, something that he had been doing a lot lately. _I'm getting more and more like Rabb everyday. _Webb paused and then shivered at the thought.

He calmly reached over and picked up the telephone and punched in the number of Falls Church's Judge Advocate General Corp. "Admiral Chegwidden? Clayton Webb. Listen, I need a favor . . ."

1859

Harm's Apartment

Virginia

"It's open!" Harm called in response to my knock. I push open the door to Harm's apartment to see Harm sprawled on his couch, a pencil tucked onto the top of his ear, and a notepad in one hand and a file in the other. He's wearing a very loose pair of jeans that look great on him and a brown shirt that hugs his form perfectly.

_Is it just me or am I getting more into his looks everyday? _I look over at Harm and shake my head as if trying to dislodge the thought. _Snap out of it, Mackenzie._

"Hey," I pick up my briefcase and walk into the room. I look at him laying the full length of the couch with one leg folded almost femininely on top of the other. I stare at him "Comfortable?"

"Very," he replied and sat up, inching to the other side of the house. "Pizza will be here in fifteen minutes. Half cheese, half meat lovers."

"Sounds good," I reply, and I look at him all the way at the other end of the couch. _Why does he have to sit so far away? _My eyes pop as I realize what I just thought. _Where the hell did that come from?!_

"Okay, here's the update on the case," he says and he shuffle his files around in his hands and moves a little closer to me so I can see them.

_Very good, Harm._

"Three months ago there was a murder in Kentucky. A Commander William Harrison was murdered just outside his apartment. He was coming home from a night of dancing with his girlfriend when he was stabbed twice and left to die near the dumpsters at the back of the building.

"NCIS was on it, but they failed to uncover any incriminating evidence pointing to any of their possible suspects. Then, three weeks later there was a murder in Detroit. Lieutenant Commander Lyndon Tang was murdered in the early hours of the morning, around one a.m. Two stabs, one in the stomach and one in the heart. Just like Commander Harrison—"

"So, wait a minute," I interjected. Harm looks at me mildly annoyed. He was really getting into the story. "We may have a possible serial killer on the loose?"

"Not may, Mac," he replies, running his hand through his thick black hair. "We _do _have a serial killer on the loose."

"How many victims?" I ask.

"Ray Baron was murdered just three days ago," Harm continued, leaning back against the couch with an exasperated sigh. "And he was the fifth victim."

"The fifth!" I exclaim, suddenly sitting up. "You mean NCIS can't catch this guy and he's already murdered five people? And what the hell _are _we doing on this case. This is an NCIS job, if not the FBI."

"NCIS _are _on the job, as well as a few agents from the FBI. But NCIS requested a few JAGs to help them out, seeing as they're obviously not doing a very good job, as you were so quick to point out," Harm quipped.

"Okay," I replied, my eyes boring holes into the files. "So what are you doing?" I nod towards the note book.

"I was trying to establish a connection between the victims. You know, why the murderer would want to kill them. There has to be some pattern," Harm commented.

"What do you have so far?" I ask and I squirm a little closer so I can see what's written on his notepad.

"They all went to the Naval Academy."

I just stare at him.

"And they were all in the same year. In fact, they all share the same _classes._"

"Okay, now that is weird," I replied staring at the files again. I look at the description of their years spent at the Naval Academy and I realize Harm's right. "So, that's the pattern. Shouldn't we warn all the others in their year?"

"Yeah, I thought about that," Harm replied. "But some things didn't quite fit. First, there were many people in their year and division, I thought is was highly unlikely that whoever this guy is would try and murder them all—"

"But he's a serial killer," I interrupted once again. "These guys do crazy things."

"For god's sake will you stop interrupting me?" he exclaimed.

"Right, whatever," I reply.

"Anyways," Harm continued. "There was also one person that didn't fit. Petty Officer Jason Young. He was in the same year as the others in the Naval Academy but was in a different division. He was the only exception to the pattern."

"Didn't NCIS figure this all out?"

"They did," he replied casually. "I was just going over it again."

"Well good for you," I said smiling just as the doorbell rang.

Harm got up to answer it, giving me a few precious moments alone with the files. Harm was right. Everything fit . . . except for Petty Officer Young. That was unnerving.

"Maybe he was a mistake," I suggested as Harm sat back down on the couch, placing the pizza box between us. _Damn._

"Who was a mistake?"

"Petty Officer Young," I replied, rolling my eyes. "Maybe he was a mistake. No one's immune to mistakes, not even a serial killer."

Harm just shook his head, his mouth full of pizza. "No, Mac. Serial killers are smart. They're smarter than your average person. They plan their moves for weeks, months ahead of their scheduled murder date. They don't just pick the wrong guy. Besides, our serial killer hasn't been caught. You don't just get away with things when you do careless things like kill the wrong guy."

"I know," I replied. "But he could have just killed Petty Officer Young to throw us off his track."

"Look, Mac. You spend weeks, no, _months _planning your next murder. Do you really go through all that trouble to murder a guy you don't even want to kill?"

I shrug my shoulders. _How the hell am I supposed to know how a serial killer thinks?_

We talk for a little while longer, we mostly read. I eat my half of the pizza and a little of Harm's. He doesn't mind. I can tell. We're smiling a lot at each other, for no reason in particular.

"Well," I yawn at what my internal clock tells me is ten thirty. "I guess I should probably get going."

_Aw, do I have to? _my slightly more wild side asks me. And my logical half says yes.

"Right," Harm said and he jumped up to escort me to the door. _Such a gentleman. _

We open up the door and then, right out the window, we can see snow falling, great truck loads of it, just coming down in one endless curtain of white. We both just stand there and we don't say anything. But we both know what each other is thinking.

"Look, Mac," Harm began, breaking what was becoming uncomfortable silence. "It really isn't safe to drive. You should stay here tonight."

"But Harm," I protest, much too readily in my opinion. "Tomorrow we're leaving and I don't have any of my stuff packed."

"Just bye some stuff in Washington," Harm replied breezily. He's let me in his apartment now. We both realize that this situation isn't going to be resolved quickly. "We both know how much you love to shop."

"That's easy for you to say," I replied with a small smile creeping onto my lips. "You're not on my budget."

"Well, budget or not, you _cannot _drive on those roads tonight," he replied with way too much finality in his voice.

"Fine," I say with an exasperated sigh but inside I'm doing cartwheels.

"Okay," he nodded. "Here, I'll get you a shirt for you to change into."

"Thanks," I reply as he turns around to go into his room. "And if I could have a blanket for the couch . . ."

He doesn't let me finish. He turns around. "You are _not _sleeping on the couch."

"Well," I replied skeptically. "It's either you or me and we both know that your couch isn't built for the 6'4 frame."

"Yeah, well, they're not exactly built for overnight comfort," he replied looking straight at me. And what's that in his eyes? Could it possibly be care?

"Point taken," I replied. "But that's neutral." And then I have an idea. "Look, Harm, we could stay here and bicker all night and then neither one of us would use the bed and though that would make it even, we really could find a better solution."

"And I suppose you have one?" He questions, raising his eyebrow.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do," I reply and flash a pleased smile. "Let's flip for it."

He opens his mouth to protest but I close it with a glare. "Look, Harm, it's perfectly even this way. A fifty-fifty chance."

For one minute I think he's going to protest anyway but then he shrugs his shoulders and dig a coin out of my pocket.

"Okay, what are you?" I ask as I position it on top of my thumb.

"I'll be tails," he replied.

"Okay, then," I nod and I close my eyes and flip. And the oddest of things happens.

The coin flips up in the air and it lands in perfect vertical position on the floor and it rolls. It rolls and it doesn't stop until it hits one of Harm's dressers and it gets wedged in the space below the legs. It's wedged perfectly straight. Not even a fraction of a millimeter in either direction.

Harm and I just stare at the coin for a moment. He looks at me and then says, "So, what does this mean?"

I look at him and smile. "I think this is God's way of saying that no one's sleeping on the couch tonight."


	3. Our Killer

A/N: Thank you all so much for the reviews! Loved them, keep them coming. And we'll see about more chapters.

**Both Sides of the Bed**

_I am going to sleep in Harmon Rabb, Jr's bed. I am going to sleep in Harmon Rabb, Jr's bed! _That's what the hormonal teenage girl inside of me says. And I am too. Harm has given me a shirt to wear for the night. One of his old ones I presume. Really old. I survey myself in the mirror outside in the hall. It's short. _Very short. _The shirt line rests just inches above my knees, kind of high for comfort. But I suppose he won't see. After all, I will be under the covers _of Harmon Rabb, Jr's bed!_

I walk into his bedroom. He's still in the bathroom, presumably changing, or shaving, or showering, or whatever he does at night. I flip off the covers to the bed and I'm just about to set myself up on the left side of the bed when a thought enters my overworking mind. _What if he has a preference? _

I knew that sounded incredibly stupid, but if he was anything like me, and we can be similar at the best of times, he would have a preference to the side of the bed.

"Hey, Harm!" I call from beside the bed and I wait for an answer. The water's running but I think it's just the tap. I wonder what he's doing in there . . .

"Yeah?" he replies over the noise of the water.

"Which side of the bed do you want?" I call. _Please don't say left. Please don't say left._

"Right!" he yells and my heart just soars up. _He said right. Right! This is just meant to be . . . _"I mean, if that's all right with you," he calls as an afterthought.

Thank god he can't see me grinning. "No," I reply back as I slip myself under the covers of the left side of the bed. "That's fine."

I lay down on the pillows and my eyelids flutter closed. God, this bed is comfortable. Really comfortable. Why haven't I noticed it before? Ah, yes. Because I don't sleep in Harmon Rabb Jr's bed enough . . . _did I just think that?!_

He comes out of the bathroom and I can see his dim figure through the slits at the bottom of my eyes. I've got my eyelids closed, I don't need him to think that I'm waiting for him.

He's standing there, clad in patched-red boxers and a white t-shirt. He's not moving, but the way he's positioned, I think he's looking at me. Of course, I can't tell with his figure so blurry, but I can only wonder what he's thinking about . . .

* * *

_God, she's beautiful. _That's all that runs through my mind as I stand in the doorway of my bathroom just looking at her. The snow still hasn't stopped coming down. The roads are going to be hell tomorrow.

I kind of grinned wildly. Snow in May. Who'd ever thought it? But this . . . I could only stare at Mac. This seemed to be fate. _Fate?! _That more reasonable, down to earth half of me says. _Harmon Rabb, you're turning into a romantic . . ._

_Not that that would be such a bad thing,' _my wild side tells myself. _Not where Mac's concerned . . . Whoa!_ And both sides come together on this to agree on one question. _Where the hell did that come from?_

I flip off the covers and Mac's curled almost cat-like in the left corner. Yes, she's beautiful. No question about it. But she _is _my partner. We'd be breaking I don't know how many regs if we did anything . . . unbecoming. Not to mention we'd have the Admiral breathing down our necks. That's never good.

And it's not like we really even have the option, Mac and I. The moment, it's never perfect. Timing just isn't right. And we can never get our feelings straight. That's the only thing I really hate about me and Mac's relationship. We always seem to be passing Go, but never getting anywhere.

I run my hands through my hair. Mac and I are one foot away, probably less. And we feel so far apart. And, don't take me as a pervert or anything, but I always figured that if I was going to have Mac in my bed . . . a) we wouldn't be so far apart and b) we wouldn't be sleeping.

Mac yawns and she rolls over a little bit . . . a little bit closer to me. How far apart are we now? Eight, six inches? Probably less. And yet, I still can't feel her body warmth. She rolls over just a little bit more. She's asleep. She has to be asleep. No way would she be this close to me in real life.

Slowly I roll out my arm and place it near her. I make it look as though I too am doing it subconsciously. Of course, she's asleep so there's no point in the secrecy of it. But if she did happen to awake, my Navy butt would be wiped all over this floor.

And then it happens. She rolls over, more and right into my arm. All of a sudden, I feel like I'm electrified. It's a sense of overwhelming emotion that just takes captive of my entire body and forces me into one electric jolt. It's a sense that is completely and uniquely Mac.

She snuggles in closer to me and rests her head on my shoulder. I rest my head on hers. So what if she complains in the morning? It was as much her action as it was mine . . .

* * *

_Ring. Ring. Ring._

I'm awake. My internal clock says 5:23. I know I'm an early bird, always have been. But this is just insane.

What is it? I roll over, as if turning away will just mute the noise. And then my brain starts working and I realize it's the telephone. I automatically reach out my left hand to take the phone off its stand and then realize I'm grasping at thin air. I open my eyes. My night table's gone.

I sit up, suddenly afraid of what's happening and then calm down. I'm not in my apartment. I'm in Harm's. In fact, I'm laying on one of Harm's arms right now. For a minute, I'm taken back. How the hell did I get _there? _

_Not that I mind, really. _

_Ring. Ring. Ring._

_Oh, right. That damn telephone._

"Harm," I say and I shake him lightly but it _is _5:23, and I of all people should know that Harm would be dead to the world at this hour. "Harm!" I shout one more time, but I know it's futile.

I groan and get up from the bed and walk over to his night table and pick up the phone.

"Mackenzie," I say into the receiver.

"Colonel!" a voice barks.

_Oh damn, damn, damn, damn . . ._

"Where the hell have you been? I have phoned your apartment, your cell phone, your. . ." and then he cottons on. "What the hell are you doing at Commander Rabb's apartment at this godforsaken hour, and where the hell is Commander Rabb?!"

_Yes, Mackenzie, this would be the opportune moment for Harm to enter the conversation._

I walk over to Harm, who's asleep on the bed looking positively angelic. The only time I've ever seen him angelic.

"Harm," I whisper into his ear and I make sure I breathe on his face extra hard. I know he hates it when I do that. "Harm, telephone."

"Mac?" he asks groggily as he opens up those sea blue eyes. "What are you—?"

I thrust the telephone into his hands and curl up on the other side of the bed with my eyes closed. Yes, best let him deal with that.

"Hello, Admiral . . . Colonel Mackenzie?"

I can feel his eyes boring into me, but as far as he's concerned, I've gone back to sleep.

"Yes, she's here . . . why?"

_Yes, Harm. Tell him why._

"Well, you saw how bad the roads were Admiral. I couldn't possibly let her go out and . . . well, yes, it only did start snowing about ten o'clock . . . what was she doing here? We were reviewing the case, I was filling her in like you asked me to . . . no, there really wasn't any time at the office . . . twenty minutes? I think we can be there, sir . . . yes, see you in twenty."

He hangs up and I still keep rolled over to my side. Again, he doesn't need to know I'm awake.

I can feel him shuffling around in the sheets. He's close to me now. He hasn't even made contact with me, but both our bodies are generating enough heat to tell us where the other is.

"Cute, Mackenzie, cute."

I roll over to see him leaning over me. _God he looks good in the morning._

I smile. "I don't have a clue as to what you mean, Commander."

He gazes at me with his interrogation face on. "Right, the Admiral calls, you answer, he wants to know what you're doing on the phone in my apartment, so you put _me _on the phone to do your explaining."

"My explaining?!" I'm sitting up now and we're both alive and awake. "I don't believe that it was _my _idea to sleep over tonight and I know it was certainly not my idea to sleep in the bed."

His eyebrow shoots up into oblivion. "It was so! That's what you made of the coin last night."

"I didn't mean the coin flipping," I said, retracting my words. _Okay, so it was kind of my idea that we end up in bed together . . . ooh, that didn't sound right. _"I volunteered to sleep on the couch—"

"Which I can't see what it has to do with the telephone."

"Well, the telephone is right next to your bed. And if I wasn't in this bed with you, you would have had no choice but to answer it. And then, _Commander, _we would not be in this mess."

_And that's game, people._

He just sits there, staring at me with those brilliant eyes. He opens his mouth and closes it several times. I just smile.

"We've got fifteen minutes left."

It takes me a minute by itself just for me to understand what he said. And then, I get it. I open my mouth. _Holy crap, the Admiral._

I jump out of bed, so does Harm. We both leap into the bathroom at the same time. We stop in mid-motion, we're both making for the shower. We just look at each other. _This cannot be happening. _

"You go first," I tell him and I hop outside. _Twenty minutes. This cannot be happening._

On Harm's part, he makes it out in record time. He could only have spent three minutes in the shower, tops. I beat him with two minutes and twenty seven seconds (but who's counting), we make it out of his apartment by 5:37 and we burst through the JAG doors with no less than three seconds to spare. All in all, you've got to give us credit. If we were to marry, we'd have the husband and wife routing down pat.

_I did not just think that!_

"Commander, Colonel, so nice of you to join us," sneers that voice I'm all too familiar with. I look to the corner of the Admiral's office where Clayton Webb is standing in his familiar three piece suit, looking about as jumpy as a spook can be.

"And to what do we owe this pleasure?" Harm asks sarcastically. Sometimes I think we just share brainwaves.

Webb just stares at us for a moment before throwing an envelope down on a desk. There's a picture on top. A picture of a body.

"There's been another murder."


	4. Someone Else

A/N: I love the reviews! Keep them coming and hope I don't disappoint you with this next chapter.

**Our Killer**

I stare at Webb with every loathsome muscle I can probably muster. God, I hate him. I hate him for what he's done to Mac, to me, to both of us. And he carries on as if it's nothing.

I take a quick sideways glance at Mac. Her lips have taken on a lovely shade of white and I know that she probably has the same feelings towards Webb that I do. God, sometimes I think we share brainwaves or something.

"There's been another murder."

I can feel my heart stop in mid-beat. Another murder. _There's been another murder. _

"Another murder?" Mac asks, her voices quivering, equal to my disbelief. "Just now? When?"

"Two hours ago," Webb replied coolly. He's got his arm tucked into one pocket of his cheap suit but even Webb isn't looking as breezy as he normally is. For one thing, he's lost his snappy comebacks. And that, of course, just isn't Webb.

"Where?" I shoot back.

"Washington," he replies calmly. "Catherine just phoned me twenty minutes ago. She's gotten the state police to back off until you get there. But NCIS are already over the scene. And I—"

"_We," _interjected the Admiral quickly. And for the first time I notice that he hasn't spoken at all since we entered the room. He's letting Webb get his words in. And this, beyond anything else, made me absorb the seriousness of the situation.

"Yes," Webb corrected. "_We _believe that you should get over there as soon as possible."

"But," Mac began, biting her lower lip. She's evidently concentrating. "None of the other murders. None of them have been in the same city. Why now?"

She's voicing my exact question.

"Yeah," I interject. "It doesn't correspond with any of the other killings. Are you sure this is our killer?"

"Positive," Webb replied. "Navy commander, was killed in the earl morning, and the typical two stabs. One in the stomach and one in the heart."

A deep silence engulfs the room. It's just possible that now, of all times, we have truly realized what is going on, and that if we don't solve this fast, more will die.

"Your cab leaves in two hours," Webb said, unfazed by our resounding silence. "We need you to get there as soon as possible. You will stay at the Santa Monica Hotel—"

"Santa Monica?"

"Yes, Rabb. Santa Monica. It was the hotel where—"

"Victor Kyle was murdered," Mac and I responded in unison. We knew. And we were none to happy.

"That doesn't sound reassuring, Webb," the Admiral spat, his second time speaking.

"Rabb and Mackenzie are well trained officers," Webb continued. "And I'm sure they more than others can cope with—"

"Oh, please," Mac said, getting up from the chair she had been sitting in. "If you're going to snow us, the least you can do is volunteer to pay for our cab. None of this "more than others can cope" crap."

"Stand down, Colonel," said the Admiral quietly from his corner.

I sat in my chair, listening intently, but my head far up in the clouds. "Are we in danger?" I asked quietly.

The whole room was instantly filled with deadened silence.

"Pardon me?" asked Webb as if he hadn't heard.

"Are we in danger?" I repeated only louder this time. "Because this really wouldn't be the first time you've put us in a hard place, Webb." I stop to take a breath. "Is there anything we need to know?"

I look at Webb and for once, he doesn't have a ready-made answer. In fact, Clayton Webb almost looks . . . nervous. _That cannot be good._

"I do not believe so," responded Webb after a good few minutes of thought. "The men that were murdered, I believe they were _chosen._"

"The killer chose his victims," Mac concluded quietly. "But he or she might know we're on their case, wouldn't we be liable for assassination then?"

"Fair question," said that Admiral. And he looked at Webb. He wanted a fair answer.

"I don't believe so. The typical description of a serial killer is a young—"

"White male with a father absent from childhood and an above average IQ," I finished, thinking back to Italy. "And typically doesn't know their victims."

"Correct, Rabb," said Webb briskly. "Your former employment? You do seem to fit the bill—"

"Continue, Webb," responded the Admiral with finality in his tone. He didn't want to deal with any of his crap today.

"Well, the Commander was correct. The killer doesn't tend to know their victims, it makes him feel more vulnerable that way. So therefore, I believe if he knew what you were up to and who you were, he wouldn't want to harm you. Scare you . . . maybe. But not harm."

"Brilliant," Mac commented sarcastically, and then looking at her watch, "well, Webb, this once again wraps up another pointless conversation with you. And we really would love to stay and chat, but," she looked at me through the corner of her eye. "We've got your serial killer to catch."

"That will be all," said that Admiral, looking steely eye at the pair of us. "Dismissed."

"Aye aye, Sir," Mac and I responded in unison and we turned on our heels and strode out of the office.

"Wait, Sarah!" the call came after us as we were about to enter the elevator. Mac and I turned around to see Web standing there, his cheap coat in his hand.

"Listen," he said, his tone much softer. "Be careful out there. I don't know what I'd do without you."

For one horrible minute I thought Mac might fall for it. _Again. _But she turned at him with that vicious Marine snarl on her face, that kick-ass routine drilled into her eyes. "Bite me, Webb."

And we entered the elevator, leaving one very shocked CIA agent behind. And the morning had just begun.

* * *

Well, it turned out Webb had called us a cab and by the time we were out of the building, it was waiting for us at the curb. Even Harm couldn't resist remarking on my parting shot to Webb. He's never quite gotten over the fact hat I _actually dated him. _And now that I think about it, I'm utterly repulsed at the idea. I think I'm getting back to my old self.

We reach Washington in good time and we're in the NCIS building before the clock strikes ten o'clock. We walk into their bullpen about the same time one of the agents is giving an announcement on our serial killer.

"During the past few months, many killings have been occurring over the States. And today's Mark Garamond is no exception. It is all the work of the same killer."

_Tell me something we don't know._

"However, we have been sifting through previous killings looking for some kind of connection, maybe evidence of a copycat, and then we found this . . ."

The agent giving the announcement turns to the blackboard where a slide is portrayed. And it's the picture of a man in a grey suit lying in a crippled position on the sidewalk, with blood streaming out of his stomach. The mere site was enough to throw my stomach into flips.

"This is Tony Barret, and he was one of the eight civilians killed six years ago. They were all stabbed in similar fashion, one stab to the stomach, the other the heart. NCIS was not involved because they were all civilian murders, but as far as we can tell, the State police and the FBI did not make much of it either. This guy was smooth. His nickname around the office was 'Phantom' . . ."

_Original._

"And we pulled all the old files they had on him. We will be handing these to our JAG lawyers," the agent motioned towards Harm and I. "And we'll see what they make of them."

_Ooh, a challenge. _

"Now, does anyone have any questions?"

I raise my hand. "Have you established any connections between the victims yet? Any pattern?"

"None except for the fact they all went to the Naval Academy and were in the same year," replied the agent. "Oh, yes, and before I forget, my name is Agent Riley."

I nodded towards him briefly in way of greeting and flash him a smile. "Colonel Mackenzie."

_Of course, he probably already knew my name. But who cares, he's cute and blonde._

I can feel Harm looking at me right out of the corner of my eye. He looks uneasy. I wonder what about. I mean, this case is pretty edgy, but it's nothing we haven't handled before. I wonder if it's something I did . . .

It's been all afternoon and she still hasn't detached


	5. Table it

A/N: Thanks for the reviews. Loved them . . . I'm keeping the chapters rolling but took a while getting this one done! Apologies to you all . . . You know the drill. R&R

**Someone Else**

She has been with Agent Riley for forty-something minutes. Mac could probably tell you how many seconds. But who's counting? Certainly not me . . . But I must say, she looks quite comfortable in that chair right next to him. They're very close. Too close.

_Not that you're jealous . . . _teases that voice inside my head, forever sarcastic.

I'm not jealous. I have no right to be. Mac can fool around with anyone she chooses, even if it is another three-piece-suit Webb remake. I don't care. I have no feelings on the matter.

_Of course, the fact that you've been staring at the file for forty-something minutes and still haven't digested a word, that doesn't say anything . . ._

Of course it doesn't. I was rudely awoken at a very early hour by a screaming Admiral, I'm just tired.

_Not to mention the fact you've been staring at Mac for that whole forty-something minutes. . ._

No, I reply to myself, well aware of how stupid it was to talk to myself. She just happens to be in my line of view.

_Yeah, if you turn your chair around 180 degrees and raise your head up an inch._

I'm just making sure she's doing okay, I convince myself. God, she looks like she's really warning up to Riley. And I _know _he's warmed up to her. That smile he flashes her every five minutes screams I-had-braces-when-I-was-a-kid but Mac just shoots him back an equally perfect smile. No, it's _more _perfect. Agent False-Teeth doesn't even rank on a scale close to Mac.

_Not that you're ranking them . . ._

"Hello, Commander," said Agent Riley, walking out of his office with Mac dogging his steps. "The Colonel and I were just about to get some lunch, would you like to join us?"

He's smiling again, but you can tell he isn't happy. And he doesn't _really _want me to come along. But who would if you could have Colonel Sarah Mackenzie alone and to yourself? This is totally and completely Mac's idea.

"Uh, no, I'm not very hungry," that complete idiot side of me replies.

Agent Riley just smiles again but Mac's features are graced with a small flicker of concern. She hides it well, but her eyes always give her away. At least, to me they do.

"Oh, well, if you're sure then," said Agent Riley, already walking away, not quite bothering hear if I was quite sure or not. Mac just shoots me a look that I can't quite decipher, somewhere between care, uncertainty, and suspicion.

_Why the hell did you do that? _

Yeah, I can't believe I'm going along with my reckless side but . . . why the hell did I do that?

_Go after her. Who knows what Agent Bugs-my-butt will do?_

Yeah, that's right . . . this isn't for my own personal gain. I'm just watching out for Mac. There's not telling what he could do.

_Besides, Mac would want you to come._

That's right, she would. Unless she really liked Riley and was just asking me out of politeness. Oh, well, too late for mixed signals.

"Wait," I call after them just as Mac puts her hand on the doorknob. "Maybe I will come with you after all."

Riley just flashes me a glare of annoyance but I'm graced with Mac's one thousand watt smile. And, of course, that's all that really matters.

_See that smile Riley? That's mine and mine alone . . ._

'Not that you're competitive, Rabb,' I add as an afterthought. But too late for that . . . I'm already following the one woman I've been following for the past nine years . . . and eternity . . . if she'll give me the chance.

* * *

I'm staring at Harm from the small crack above my menu. I'm trying to tell what the hell he's thinking. I used to be able to do it without a moment's thought, but these days . . . it seems like things are going better between us, and yet I'm seeing something completely different his eyes that takes all my efforts to decipher. And even when I do decrypt it . . . I don't know what it means.

I'm trying to figure out why at the beginning he didn't want to come with Riley and I but then abruptly changed his mind.

_Not that I mind, of course. _But still . . . what is he thinking? That's the eternal question, I know. Did it have anything to do with Riley?

_Why would it? It's not like this is another Brumby or Webb._

_Then again, _I reply to myself. _He doesn't know that . . . but he should. If he even remotely knew me, he'd know I didn't go for the flashy-smile, show-off types._

I kind of wildly grin. I almost said I didn't go for Harm. Almost. But with every rule, there's always one exception . . . and that's usually the one you end up keeping.

* * *

"Well done, people," announced Riley tiredly to the bullpen. "We've made advances, however few, but improvement nonetheless. I would like to thank our two JAG lawyers for coming on such short notice."

He flashes her that grin and I can see the corners of Mac's mouth twist up into a smile. _Does she really like Riley that much? _

"Well, see you tomorrow, people. Good night, everyone!" there's the movement of everybody getting up from their chairs. I'm about to go over to Mac to see where she wants to go for dinner when I see Riley pull her aside.

I must confess, my first impulse is to run over there and snatch her away from him and yell for all to hear, that she is mine and everyone better back off. But I don't. For one, I know Mac would kick my six into oblivion and . . . that she can handle herself. She can handle herself better than anyone I've ever known.

Instead, I kind of shuffle over to where they're standing and talking, making as if I'm going for a file. I'm just in time to hear snippets of their conversation, the very end.

"And here's my number, Sarah. Call any time."

"Thank you, Aaron."

And that's when I knew I had lost her. I had lost her to someone with fake-white teeth and an arrogance streak a mile long. But most importantly, I had lost her to someone else. Someone that wasn't me.

* * *

It wasn't a particularly long drive back to the hotel. But if felt long as hell. There was absolute silence in the car except for the rhythm of Harm's fingers tapping loudly on the steering wheel. It's driving me up the wall. He's driving me up the wall.

"Look, could you quit it for a moment?" I snap. Okay, I've finally lost it. I admit it. But he had it coming.

He stops but he continues to glare at the traffic moodily. What is his problem? He's either ecstatically happy or depressed beyond suicidal. Why the hell does he keep on doing this to me?

We get out of our rental car and we're entering the hotel. He still won't talk to me, not to mention look at me.

"Okay, Harm, what the hell is your problem?" I ask as he's turning the key to room number 27. Our room.

"What's _my_ problem?" he yells back, and I'm kind of shocked. Harm doesn't yell. Not to me, anyway.

"_I'm _not the one that's doing a Webb all over again!"

That one hit it home.

"What is it with you, anyway, Mac? Why do you have to pick such losers and then fall to pieces when they dump you . . ."

He'd keep going if I gave him the chance. I really would. But I've hear enough. It's not like he's got the greatest girl-friend past either.

"You know what?" I ask softly but it deadens his over-powering voice. "Just go to hell." I can stop the tears from flowing down my face. The one person I thought understood me . . . the one person. But, no, he's just like everybody else. "Go to hell."

I twist open the doorknob to our room and stop. Someone had written exactly what I just said . . . in blood. On our wall.


	6. Any Excuse

A/N: I'm so sorry for having a few really crappy chapters. My apologies go out to you all. I promise it'll get better; I'm just suffering from acute writer's block. No big.

Special thanks to: joanoa, GuitarVixen, Bite Beccy, alix33, starryeyes10, SpaceMan546, Wendy Kaye, froggy0139, Jackia, Tina Frank, Lyssa Grace, snosamie6, cbw, Nesabj, Arian04, and anyone else who reviewed!!!

**Table it**

I can feel it. I know something's wrong. I don't know how, I don't know why. I just _do._

Mac entered the room. I'm still looking at my feet. I know what I said was wrong. It was way over the line. But I was just so goddam mad. How could she fall for another Webb? _Especially with me right here._

I mean, she fell for Webb when she was in Paraguay, and I _wasn't _there. And she only really got won over by Brumby when I went back to fly. Of course, there was that whole Sydney Harbor incident . . . _best not review the thousand regrets there._

"Harm . . ."

I cock my head up. What did I hear in Mac's voice? Fear? Maybe . . . but my Marine isn't scared easily. And . . . she's speaking to me? I wasn't expecting that one.

"What?" I ask and I come by her side, into the room, and I can feel my jaw just drop open. Honestly, you could have flown an F-14 in the space my mouth was currently harboring.

"What the hell?" I whisper. It's the only thing to say. The only thing that seems appropriate, anyway.

_Go to hell. _That's what's written on the wall of _our _hotel room. _Go to hell. _And it's written in blood.

It's like my brain's frozen in mid-motion. Luckily, Mac's isn't. She instantly goes into her purse and retrieves her cell phone, which she quickly whips out and begins dialing a number.

She places it to her ear and I can hear the distinct sound of ringing.

"Who're you calling?" I ask, turning my head towards her.

"Riley," she replied calmly. That brought me out of my little fantasy realm and right back down to earth.

I turn away, almost disgusted. So that's who she goes to for help now. I would have almost preferred Webb. At least now I know that he's not a threat anymore. Get rid of one agent and he's replace by another. They just keep on coming.

"Yes, it's me. You were right . . . in our room . . . five minutes? We'll be waiting." She hangs up and then places her cell phone back in her purse. I still can't even look at her. The thought that she and Riley . . . it's killing me.

"Come on," she whispers, closing the door. "Let's go wait in the lobby."

"Whoopee," I reply sarcastically.

She whips around. "What is your problem, anyway?" she snaps. "Besides the obvious ones."

"Nothing, Mac," I replied, pushing the elevator button rather forcefully, so hard it hurt. "I'm just dandy."

There's no conversation on the elevator. We've seemed to come up with the mutual agreement that we're not speaking to each other. Which suits me just fine. But then . . .

"Seriously, Harm," Mac suddenly snaps. We're sitting on a couch in the lobby. If they had two couches, we'd be on separate ones. But they don't, so we content ourselves with sitting on the two opposite ends, about as far as way as we can possibly get. "Why are you so mad at me? We didn't exactly leave JAG as enemies."

_So think, Mac. Who's entered our lives since JAG this morning? Hmm . . ._

"Forget it," I say as way of reply. Mac's turned to look at me but I'm still not ready to meet her eyes. Let her suffer.

She opens her mouth to say something else, but both our heads turn simultaneously as the hotel door swings open to reveal none other than Agent Bite-Me.

"We'll table this conversation," she whispered as Riley saw us and turned to walk in our direction.

"Why not?" I shoot back. "We table everything else."

* * *

Riley did a check of our hotel room. He had brought a few of his little friends with him. More agents, forensic experts, etc. And in less than three minutes, our little room was filled with various forms of spooks. Of course, they weren't nearly as spooky as Webb, for that I have to thank God, but they all moved around robotically and didn't say a word. It was unnerving, to say the least.

And Harm didn't help any. Not that I expected him to or anything. He didn't say a thing as he watched the blood being removed from the wall after pictures had been taken of it from several different positions. Not that he was saying anything to me before this all happened. And of course they took samples of the blood, etc. All in all, it took two and a half hours. Thankfully, Harm and I didn't have to stick around that long.

"Well, Colonel, Commander, I suspect we will be done here shortly. Give us an hour or so," said Dr. Matlock, the only other agent other than Riley who seemed to actually have a mouth and knew how to work it. "Agent Riley says that if you wish, you may ask for another room."

"Yeah, I think we'll do that," I said, nodding reassuringly, but it's probably only to myself. Harm has set his mind to not looking at me since the moment we entered the room, and Dr. Matlock, well, he's a spook, you can't expect that much.

I turn around and then realize that I'm leaving someone behind. "Harm, are you coming?"

He turns and for the first time in about an hour and a half, our eyes connect. And I can feel, as always, myself just totally being sucked into his mind. What's that in his eyes? Possibly hurt? And then a horrible thought comes to my head. Could I have caused that?

"Yeah," he mumbles and follows me over to the elevator. This is not my partner, however much it looks like him. My partner's an arrogant, proud, reckless, kind, sensitive, loveable . . . _I did not just think that. _

I think back the conversation we had just before Riley and his gang infiltrated our room. _Why not? We table everything else._

Of course, I knew what he was talking about. We tabled it in Paraguay, and we're tabling it now. But we also squared the conversation in Paraguay. I mean, I told him that we would never work out because we both want to be on top. _God, what completely stupid words . . ._

And then a thought struck me like a bolt of lightning sent down from All-Mighty himself. _Is that what he thinks I'm going to say this time?_

"Hi," Harm starts off when we're at the counter, jolting me out of my senses. "Could we please have a new room?"

"Yes," replied the service lady, no questions asked. I'm pretty sure the hotel already knows what happened. "Two rooms or one?"

There's one hesitant moment between the two of us, even if no one but Harm and me notice it. Our eyes meet and don't break contact. I raise an eyebrow as if to ask him if he still wants to share . . . and his eyes send back volumes of information . . . if only it wasn't in Harm Code.

"One," he answers for the both of us. And then he turns to me, "if that's all right with you."

"Yeah," I replied quickly, and then kind of slow my speech so it doesn't look like I'm _too _eager. "That's fine."

_But we are going to have this conversation, Harm. We are._


	7. He Walks Among Us

A/N: Keep the reviews coming. Sorry the last chapter was short but I'm making up for it with this one! R&R

**Any Excuse**

We're barely into our new hotel room before she flops down on the bed as if she's just run a marathon. You've got to hand it to Mac, she really takes things well. Especially considering just an hour and a half ago we walked into a room just like this with a damning sentence written in blood on the wall. But by the looks of her, she's doing some serious thinking. I wonder what about. Probably Riley.

"Well, I'm going to have a shower," I say, undoing my tie and throwing it on the chair. It's been one hell of a long day.

"Wait, Harm," she says, instantly springing to life and out of the bed. "We've got to talk."

I rub my eyes. _Not now. _"I really don't want to talk about Riley right now, Mac." I look into her eyes and I can see the spark of confusion. Oh, come on, she has to know what I'm talking about.

"What about Riley and I?" she asks and then it happens, the recognition, and she's instantly transformed into a giggly teenager, laughing her head off on the bed.

"Pardon my asking, but what the hell is so funny?"

It's all very well for _her _to laugh. She doesn't have to watch the person _she _loves hook up with someone whose only going to end up hurting her . . . Did I just say loves?! _Couldn't be._

"Oh, Harm," she says and her eyes are filled with understand. Of course, it's ruined by that devilish smile that graces her features just perfectly. She's so Mac. And that, without a doubt, is the best complement I can ever pay.

She walks over to me and places her arm around my neck in an attempt to level up to my height. And if I wasn't so generally moody, I might be amused. She draws her face very close to mine, so that when she speaks her breath breezes by me.

"You're my best friend," she whispers so softly that the only reason I can hear her is because she's two centimeters away from my face. She leans in and kisses my nose. "And there's nothing between Riley and I."

That may possibly have been the best moment of my life. And I probably would have seized the moment, Mac practically wrapped around me, and all, if I hadn't had _Halleluiah! _playing over and over in my head.

* * *

I can only just look at his face as I tell him. He closes his eyes, almost as if he just can't take it, and then the most beautiful smile graces his lips. It's very different from his flyboy smile. His flyboy smile is full of arrogance, pride, and cockiness, not that that isn't attractive, but this one . . . is so human. So utterly angelic that I'm drawn infinitely closer to him.

"And there never will be," I say, even softer than before, so soft I can barely hear myself. But I know he can hear me, because that smile only grows wider. We just stay there, my arms wrapped around his neck and him holding me close.

And then . . . the moment's over. I unravel myself from him and then kind of draw away, embarrassed at what came over me. I place my hands on my hips and we just stare at each other for one stifling moment before he goes off to have his shower and I get dressed into my night things.

_Oh yes, we definitely tabled it right this time._

* * *

I walk out of the bathroom with that grin just plastered all over my face. It hasn't disappeared since Mac first told me there was nothing between her and Riley, and it still hasn't gone away. It's been there for a full eight minutes and thirty-four seconds, but I don't care. There's nothing between Mac and Riley. _And there never will be._

Yes, those were her exact words. _There never will be. _And if I knew how to do cartwheels, I'd be pulling off a hundred of them right now. So what if she said that before to me too?

Things have definitely been moving out into the positive direction for Mac and I. Definitely. And maybe she'll retract that little statement she made in Paraguay. Maybe. You know me, I'm the eternal optimist.

But now that Mac and I are sorted out, temporarily, there is that little matter of a gored wall. By the looks of Mac's face when we first entered, she had either been expecting it, or she just wasn't surprised. And whichever of the two it is, I want to know all about it. Because if I didn't know any better, this would have Webb written all over it. Either that or some cheap horror film.

"Hey," I great her as I walk out of the bathroom. I'm wearing blue boxers and a t-shirt that says 'Go Navy' on it but she doesn't seem to mind at all. In fact, she looks almost amused.

And then I see her. She's buried under at least two feet of covers and all I can see is her head poking out slightly. What does she have to hide? And all of a sudden, I want to do nothing more than find out.

"Hey, Marine," I reply approaching her, leaning on the edge of the bed. "You warm enough?"

"About," she replied smirking. She still won't let up with the covers. _What is she hiding under there?_

I voice my question out loud. If I didn't know Mac any better, I would have believed her when she told me nothing, but her ears turned pink immediately at my question and I swallowed a smile.

"All right, fine," I say and I turn away to walk over to my bed. I settle down comfortably in the quilts and I watch Mac squirm.

"Hey, Mac!" I call, just before she goes to sleep. "What did Riley give you his number for?"

She turns around in her covers and mumbles something inaudible to me, her eyes firmly shut.

"What?" I ask. I get no response from her end so I get up out of my bed and walk over to hers. I sit down on the side she's not sleeping on and stir her.

"What?!" she asked/yelled grumpily.

"Why did Riley give you his phone number?" I repeat, her back to me.

"Because he thought something like this might happen," she said slowly and sleepily. "He wanted to warn us, and for us to call him if it happened."

"Oh," I say, the only sound coming to mind. I'm just about to turn back to my bed when my eye catches her again. She's so peaceful, so beautiful . . . _and I won't deny it this time._

I stand there for god knows how long before I walk back up to her and lift the covers of her slightly. There she is, in sleeping shorts and a t-shirt. To be more specific, sleeping shorts and a USNA shirt that I _know _isn't hers. In fact, I know exactly whose it is. It's mine. The t-shirt I gave to her the other night to sleep in. Apparently she likes it.

And suddenly I'm sleepy, overcome with fatigue. My bed seems so far away. And I don't even worry about the marine sleeping next to me kicking my six tomorrow morning. She's welcome to it, in fact. _Any excuse. Any excuse to be near her. Any excuse._

* * *

"Are you even going to explain?"

I open my eyes to see a very pretty marine bending over me, her breath still playing over my face. _What's she doing on me?_

And then every part of last night comes back to me. Including the part where I slept in her bed instead of taking that six foot walk back to mine . . . oops.

"Not saying that I don't enjoy your company, Harm, but we have our own beds for a reason," she said, but what's that I see? Possibly a smile? "And that reason is usage."

I get up and suddenly realize how small the beds _actually _are. Really, they're only fit for one person. How did last night work out? I can't even remember. But what I surmise from the size of the bed and our combined size, we must have slept on top of each other. _God, and I can't even remember it . . ._

"Come on," she said brightly, springing up from the bed. "You can buy me breakfast and then explain to me how we ended up sleeping together again."

That gets me moving. I jump up as though hit by the force of a steaming locomotive.

"Oh, come on," she says rolling her eyes as she beats me to the bathroom. "You know what I meant."

I do. And yet . . . somehow I feel we've had this conversation before.

* * *

We slept together. Again. Well, sure, not in _that _way. But why did we? I can only remember waking up in mid-morning, my internal clock said 4:12,and finding myself buried in Harm's arms, my head lying on his chest.

_Boy, he was comfortable . . . snap out of it, Mackenzie. You are not going to swoon over Harmon Rabb Jr. _

I'm in the shower and I giggle at the thought. Me . . . swooning over Harm. _Yeah, right. _I try and picture it. Fighting with myself over what to wear when he comes over, getting light headed whenever he walks in the room, and being unable to connect one sentence to the next when speaking to him . . . wait, I already do that. _Connection?_

"Are you almost done in there, Marine?" Harm calls from the other side of the door. "Have you ever heard of something called water conservation?"

"If you truly cared about water maintenance, you would have proposed us showering together!" I replied from over the rush of water. But he's right, I've been in here for going on twenty minutes. So I turn off the tap and wrap a towel around myself before walking out.

If you could have only seen his reaction. It's like a thousand buffalos have just tramped him over, he's so windblown. He stares at me for eternity, or at least, until he remembers he has eyes and that I can see where they're trained. His head snaps up and it looks almost as if he's dreaming, because he's got that same look in his eyes.

And then a thought struck me. _Has he dreamed this? Me, in a towel, could that be one of the many Harm fantasies?_

But I dislodge that idea almost as quickly as it comes. _Na, it couldn't be. _

* * *

"All right, people," Riley called to the bullpen. "According to our time pattern, The Phantom will strike anytime between tonight and Thursday night."

_Well, that narrows it down._

"We have five days."

_Ah and where would he be without his elaborate counting skills?_

"Colonel, Commander, if you have a moment," said Riley, beckoning us with his finger. _Anything for you, Riles._

"Yes, Riley?" I ask, none to politely. Okay, so I know nothing's going on between him and Mac. But I see the way he stares at her . . . and he has anything but good intentions.

Mac puts her arm out and grasps the back of my hand in warning. We're standing so that Riley can't see our arms, but he's has to sense something because I'm so electrocuted by her touch, my hair's probably standing on end.

"Tomorrow you'll be returning to Virginia," he said calmly. "We'll continue to work together but we honestly are no closer to catching The Phantom and Clayton Webb seems to feel that it's better that you—"

"Wait, Webb?" Mac interjected before I could. _That's my girl. _"What does Webb have to do with all this? He never quite explained it to us before."

Riley's eyes swiveled between the two of us. "You mean you don't know?"

I sigh, rolling my eyes. "Does it honestly look like we know?"

Riley's eyes darted between the two of us. "Webb's been after The Phantom for years. I thought you two of all people would know."

"Why would we know?" I ask.

"And how come we've never heard of the Phantom from Webb if he's been after him for years?" Mac cut in.

Riley stared at us as if we were complete idiots. "Well, you're his friends, and I'd assumed that Webb would bother to tell his friends about the man that killed his father."

A/N: Getting good now? Want more? Wanna see what happens? Well then, I guess you'll just have to review.


	8. He Walks Among Us

A/N: Hope you all liked the last chapter. Beginning to wonder about Webb now? Ha! Read on . . . read on. And we'll get to the bottom of this. And, as always, R&R. Expecting reviews if you want me to continue . . .

**He walks Among Us**

"The Phantom killed Webb's father?!" he exclaims. Honestly, I'm too shocked to even speak. Why hadn't Webb said anything before? I mean, I _dated _him. You can't get much closer than that.

Riley nodded. "Honestly, I'm surprised you hadn't found out sooner. It's really a wonder why Webb's in charge of this whole operation. When the CIA found out about Webb's connections with the Phantom, they weren't at all pleased. I didn't think he would even be in the _loop _not to mention running it."

"And Webb's running this op?" I ask. Now things are making sense. Who retrieved us from JAG? _Webb. _Who wouldn't tell us _anything _about the case until we got to NCIS? _Webb. _And who's always mixed up in the cases that endanger Harm and I? _Webb. _So, seriously, why am I surprised at all? _It's Webb._

Riley just stared at us for countless minutes. He must think we're real idiots. We came to Washington with practically zero on the information scale. _But, I must say, we've learned a whole lot more in the last five minutes than we have these past days._

"Look, Mr. Riley," Harm said, breaking the silence that had enveloped the room. "We must be going. We'll keep in touch."

"Yes, Commander, that we will," Riley said, shaking hands with Harm. They're a lot friendlier towards each other.

Harm and I walk out of Riley's office, eying each other the entire time. We're sharing brainwaves again. _What the hell is up with Webb? _He's a spook, of course. So that in and of itself is a reasonable answer. _But honestly . . ._

"So what do you think?" Harm whispers to me as we're out in the bullpen once again.

"I think Webb has a lot of explaining to do," I said firmly, turning towards us. "And the sooner he spills his guts, the better."

"I just don't get why he didn't tell us sooner," Harm said flatly. "I mean, if he wasn't going to tell us, fine. But sending us here was just begging for it. I mean, Riley knew, so it has to be common knowledge—"

I stare at him. _Harm will never change._

"I'm just saying," Harm continued, deflecting my stare. "That Webb knew we were going to find out . . . so why didn't he just tell us and save himself the trouble of us questioning him later?"

"Commander, Colonel!" calls Ms Lindsey, one of the various NCIS secretaries. "I've called you a cab. It'll be here in fifteen minutes."

"Thank you," I replied quickly and Ms. Lindsey went back to her work. "But I get your point, Harm. Why didn't he just tell us?"

We both stare at each other for a moment, not quite sure what to say . . . or to think, for that matter. Webb just boggles the mind.

He didn't tell us . . . but he knew we'd find out. If he didn't tell us, then he probably didn't want us to find out . . . but then why send us to some place where he _knew _we would find out . . . Unless he wanted us to find out about his father . . . but that wouldn't make sense because then he could have just _told _us . . . _but what if he couldn't_?

"Harm," I whisper. I think I've just got something. "What if Webb couldn't tell us?"

"What do you mean?" he says, his eyes focusing on me. Clearly he was thinking too.

"I mean, what if Webb was told not to tell us. Or was supposed to not tell us, but he wanted us to know. So instead of telling us, he just let us figure it out for ourselves," I excitedly conclude. "He wants us to know . . . so we can do something. For him. So we can do something for him without anyone knowing because as far as everyone's concerned, we don't know."

Harm stares at me for a moment. It's hard to tell what he's thinking. "That _would _make sense, except for a few minor details."

"What?" I asked. I think I've got it all figured out.

"Well, if he wanted us to do something for him, why doesn't he just ask? I mean, we're already _on _the case. So it's not as if we're not already working for him," he responds. "He could just come out and ask."

"A," I replied briskly. "Webb _never _asks. He bargains, blackmails, etc. And second, what if he couldn't ask?"

"What do you mean 'he couldn't ask'? He's the head of this op. He can ask anything he damn well pleases."

"No, I don't mean as in authority speaking, he couldn't ask," I fill him in quickly. We're whispering now. We don't need anyone overhearing us. "What if he couldn't ask because he did want someone to know?"

"Who?"

_And then it dawns on him._

"The Phantom?"

I nod. "What if he thought the Phantom could know?"

Harm stares at me and we instantly connect. "The Phantom's an inside job. And Webb can't trust anyone so he—"

"Has to pull someone from the outside—"

"And that person—"

"Is us," I finish. We stare at each other for a long time. We understand. We finally understand.

"So, how do we know what we have to do?" Harm asks quietly. That's another thing, _what do we have to do? _Knowing Webb, it'll involve danger. Lots of it.

"He'll send us a message," I responded, equally quiet. "He'll make sure we know."

Harm pauses for a minute. "So _that's _how the Phantom knew which room we were staying in. Everyone inside the loop would know that we were staying in the same room and hotel as Victor Kyle when he was murdered. And the exact hotel and room wouldn't have been released but that wouldn't be a problem for the Phantom . . . he would already know."

"Right," I replied. And then my eyes scan the bullpen. "These people know virtually nothing. But maybe—" I start.

"It's intentional," he finishes. "Webb already knows more than them, but if he thought this was the office where the Phantom was . . . then he would personally shorten their knowledge of the case. And if he sent us here . . . then he wants us—"

"To find the Phantom," I whisper. Suddenly our mission was very clear.

"Commander, Colonel, I hate to interrupt," said Ms. Lindsey quickly, breaking Harm and my eye contact. "But your cab is here."

"Thank you," Harm nods and watches as Ms. Lindsey returns to her work. We stand there for a minute, just looking out into the bullpen. To think, in this very room, the Phantom could be sitting here. Reviewing papers . . . trying to catch himself. Or rather, preventing the catching of himself. _He walks among us._

"Harm, the cab," I say, breaking his thought.

"Right," he responds and we both shuffle out of the NCIS building, eying everyone that passes us by. _Could they be the Phatom?_

"When do you think Webb will get in touch?" Harm asks, as soon as we're out in open air.

"I don't know," I shrug. "Knowing Webb, as soon as possible."

"Probably before," Harm grins. _God, I enjoy doing this with him. Catching the bad guys, ensuring justice . . . being with him . . ._

"Well, he's going to have to really plead if he wants me to come on another mission with him," I say, my tone ensuring the finality in my voice. "I mean, down on his knees with a puppy dog pout."

"And that'll work?" Harm said, raising an eyebrow. "That's what wins you over?"

I smile that devilish smile that I know I possess. "Only one way to find out, Flyboy."

I push past him and open the cab door. And suddenly, I wish to God I hadn't. Because I'm confronted face to face with the shiny black end of what I only know from experience to be a revolver.

"Get in the cab," says the gruff voice. And instantly, Harm and I obey.

A/N: Yes, it is getting good. So kindly review . . . that is, if you want me to go on . . .


	9. Classified Information

**A/N: Okay, the chapters haven't been very good. Eternally sorry. But, I warn you, they are about to get dangerously good. Also dangerously shippery, but that's another story (not really) . . . R&R (otherwise I don't know whether to continue). **

**P.S. sorry the chapter names are all screwed up. Don't know what happened there. But hopefully from now on everything will go as it should. **

**Classified Information**

"Harm, Mac."

I can feel Mac's arm, which had instinctively wrapped tensely around mine, loosen up a bit. It's that voice . . . the voice I know too well. All too well . . .

"Webb," I respond, dangerously shaky. Does he know what he just did to us? No, probably not. He could have given the both of us a heart attack. Of course, we've seen the other end of a revolver before . . . but that's really not the point.

"I apologize," he replied sincerely. Sincerely for a spook. "But you had to get into the cab quickly. Before anyone saw you."

"Forget it," said Mac, pushing a stubborn strand of her dark hair out of her face. She pushes herself back in the seat, as if trying to calm herself, and then she stared at Webb with a look that ordered him to go on.

"I suppose I have some explaining to do."

"No kidding, Webb," I snarl. "How about starting with the fact that this supposed 'Phantom' killed your father? Or that you've been after him for years? _Or _the fact that you're going to drag us into another one of your schemes."

Webb was quiet for a moment. He sat in the front seat of the taxi, swiveled around in his chair so he could face Mac and I. The driver, the one with the gun, seemed not to have ears at all. And if he did, he either found this information very unsurprising or he just didn't care.

"You've found out quite a lot in a small amount of time," he whispered, more to himself than anyone else. The small cab whizzed along the highway, eating away miles.

"Including that you think the Phantom's one of the NCIS team," Mac interjected. Webb whirled around so fast a crick appeared in his neck, which he continued to rub gingerly while he spoke.

"How," he paused quietly, words still forming in his mind, "did you come to that conclusion?"

"Because we have heads, Webb," I grumble, staring out the window rather than at him. "And we know how to use them."

"It made sense," Mac said quickly. "Why they had so little information. You were cutting them out of the loop." She stared intently at Webb with those chocolate brown eyes I love so much. "Why?"

"That's classified," he responded swiftly.

"Who do you think it is?" I interject.

"Classified."

"Any suspects?"

"Classified."

"Which organizations are "in the loop"?"

"Classified."

"Favorite burger, A&W Mama burger or a Beltway Burger?"

Both Webb and I just stare at Mac and she grins to our response. "Just wondered if that was classified too."

"Look, Rabb," Webb sighed. "I can't answer any of your questions because we're all still working it out. It took us a long time to realize it was one of our own people. And by that time, most of the damage was already done."

"Continue," I said slowly. We're finally getting a real answer out of Webb . . . I think.

"Then that took all the more time because we had to figure out which organization held the leak," Webb said calmly. "The FBI, NCIS, or−" he cut off staring at us. "We didn't know where the leak was. And there were so many connections. NCIS was running forensics, the FBI had to talk with all the departments so that was ten organizations right there, not including the actual FBI themselves. It was a nightmare. And, of course, there was our organization which you can agree is by no order small−"

"You're babbling, Webb," Mac interrupted. "Cut to the chase."

"Lovely mouth you have there, Mackenzie," Webb grumbled annoyed.

"Apparently you liked it," Mac shot back. "I don't seem to recall you particularly minding my mouth when we were−"

"_Anyways_," I interject immediately. We definitely do NOT need to get into that conversation . . . ever.

"I was only going to say when we were in Paraguay," she replied shrugging nonchalantly.

"Sure you were," both Webb and I reply in unison. We just stare at each other for a moment and then both shake our heads at each other.

"Back to the Phantom," Mac says sternly. "How did you figure out it was NCIS?"

Webb looks around uncomfortably. We're zooming down the highway at God-Knows-What-Speed. But I guess CIA agents get exemption from speeding tickets or something. That would explain a lot.

"Yeah, I know," I reply rolling my eyes. "It's classified."

Webb breathed, as if willing himself to break the rules, just this once. "We fed each department a different story, a different hypothesis as to what the pattern of the killings was, to see what the Phantom would do next."

"A trap," Mac breathed, deducting exactly what I was.

"Yes," Webb said, shaking his head. "And it worked too. Each department was given different information as to how the killings would take place. You see, the Phantom's a very craft person . . ."

Webb's eyes misted over, his voice suddenly growing far way. Mac and I could only listen. "He feasts on the approval of others. In my opinion, it's the only reason he or she kills them. Because they want the fame . . . the recognition. They want the name 'Phantom' uttered around the world. With fear, or respect. I don't know. The Phantom is smart . . . smarter than even your average serial killer. And serial killers are smarter than your average person. There is a pattern between the victims. A pattern that only the Phantom knows. And he secretly wants us to figure him out . . . so he can come out into the public's eye as an infamous serial killer. The world's best . . . it's all about the fame to him. He craves the media. The attention. And he's playing with us," Webb sighed. "That's the worst of it all. To the Phantom, this is all one gigantic game. He baits us, and we follow like on a hook and line. He calls and we come all ears.

"But," he sighed unhappily. "We have no choice. If we don't, more die. And if we do . . . they still die."

"You lose no matter what," Mac whispered sympathetically. She reached out an arm and rubbed it on Webb's shoulder. The sight absolutely sickens me.

"That's a very nice story Webb," I say nastily. "But what are we supposed to do about it? In case you haven't noticed, we have nothing to do with you and your people."

Webb and Mac just stare at me.

_Okay, so that's not entirely true._

"Well, we don't want to have anything to do with your people," I correct myself forcefully. "And we care, Webb. We really do . . . except you seem to be on top of everything."

Webb leaned back in the seat, his back to us. Mac whirls around to meet my eyes and she mouths the words 'Be Nice' but I'm in no mood. Webb's ruined my life way to many times for me to pass up the option to stick it back to him.

"Except we're not," Webb breathed, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "We're not on top of things. The Phantom's still out there and we're virtually clueless."

"Oh, you can't be that bad off," I object, shaking my head. "You know it's someone in NCIS. How hard can it be?"

"Except that it's not someone _really _in NCIS," Webb replied, covering his face with his hands. "NCIS is their _connection. _And the tricky part is, is that NCIS might not even know it."

"You lost us, Webb," Mac said, speaking for the both of us.

"My sources found out that NCIS doesn't have a direction connection with the Phantom," Webb explained slowly. "In other words, they're not the Phantom."

"How can you be so sure?" I butt in.

Webb just looks at me, and a grim smile comes to his lips. "That's classified."

"But the Phantom's definitely not one of the NCIS crew?" Mac asked uncertainly.

"We've confirmed it," Webb said nodding. "But we know the leak is definitely in NCIS."

"Then find those with a connection to a possible suspect," Mac said bluntly. "It can't be hard."

"And it wouldn't be," Webb admitted. "If the Phantom had a direct connection to NCIS."

"And we're back to ground zero," I sneer. "Webb, what the hell are you talking about? We're just going around in circles."

"I mean, the Phantom may be using NCIS . . . and they don't even know it."

Mac and I steer our eyes towards each other so we can meet in one hesitant gaze. Mac's hand slowly folds over mine. It's not a particularly tense moment, but we do a lot of that handholding nowadays.

"What do you mean, Webb?" Mac asked, voice strong.

"What I mean, is the Phantom's using NCIS. They have no clue . . . but we had to cut them out of the loop anyway," Webb said. "We couldn't risk the Phantom learning anymore than he already has."

"Which is . . ." I prod. "What information has the Phantom learned?"

Webb turned around and lay back in his seat. "That's classified too."

The cab came to a screeching halt in the JAG parking lot, but Mac, Webb and I stay in the cab.

"Well, pardon me, Webb, but I'm a little confused," I snarl. "I'm confused as to why Mac and I are here if you have no apparent use for us."

Webb stared at me, his steely eyes meeting mine. "I never said I had no use for you."

"Then what is it Webb?" Mac challenges. "Spit it out!"

"We haven't got all day," I wrap up.

"I need you to do something for me," he said quietly.

"What?"

"You play a very important part in the plan."

"Which is?" Mac cut in.

"In fact, it's probably the only way we'll be able to catch the Phantom . . ."

"And are you going to bother telling us?"

Webb just stared at the pair of us. "If you could let me speak . . ."

"Oh, we're so sorry, Your Highness," I sneered. "Except we're a little preoccupied with the fact that there's a serial killer on the loose."

Webb turned to me and opened his mouth to say something but the words caught in his throat. Mac stared at him . . . hard.

"All right . . . here's what I want you to do . . ."

Mac and I bent out heads in.

* * *

"Absolutely not!" both Mac and I scream.

A/N: Wanna know what happens? Reviews please . . .


	10. The Plan

A/N: Thanks for the reviews, people. Many of you are trying to guess what happens in the story. Let's just say . . . predict all you want! This is about to get twisted . . . and shippery . . . with our favorite pair.

**Flashback to Classified Information:**

"All right . . . here's what I want you to do . . ."

Mac and I bent our heads in.

"Absolutely not!" Mac and I scream.

**The Plan**

"No way," I breathe, my eyes stormy. I'm staring at Webb with every loathsome muscle I can possibly muster. "There is no possible way, Webb." I pause and whirl around to face Mac. "Right, Mac?"

Mac doesn't say anything, but her lips have gone white . . . and I know what that means. She's clasped her hands together and folded them over her knees and staring very intently at the ground. She's thinking . . . this can't be good.

"We can't, Webb," she says softly, averting both our eyes. "Not again."

Webb stays in the front seat, obviously lost in thought. "I can't make you do this," he said, his voice breaking at every syllable. He gets out of the car and we follow. I put my arm at the back of Mac's and tug it towards me. We turn around and start heading to the entrance of the JAG building when Webb's voice stops me.

"I lost my father to the Phantom," Webb whispered, but I can hear his voice cutting the air. "And I won't let anyone else die . . . not in the hands of the Phantom." Webb raises his head and stares at me with tears in his eyes that refused to break. "And you of all people, Rabb, should understand that."

Webb gets into the cab and drives away leaving me immobile with one hand on the handle of the door. Mac doesn't move me . . . she doesn't even try. And we stand there, together . . . but so far apart.

* * *

"All right," Webb said, his voice suddenly rushed. "Here's what I want you to do."

Harm and I bend our heads forward so as not to miss one word of Webb's carrying voice.

"Our prime suspect," Webb begins, suddenly turning to look me straight in the eye, "is Agent Aaron Riley of NCIS."

I can feel my heart skip a beat and Harm's eyes instantly stiffen. Riley . . . I can't believe it . . . _Riley? Had Harm been right about him all along?_

"But you said he's not the actual Phantom," I say, turning to meet Webb's eyes. "He's their connection."

"That's right," Webb said, nodding. "That's our prime suspect."

"Have you got more?" Harm asks, deep thoughts running races through his mind. "Because it would be hell if you arrested the guy. Especially one that's trying to catch the Phantom."

"Don't I know it," Webb sighed. "Things get very complicated very fast."

"Sounds like you're describing yourself," Harm accuses.

Webb ignores Harm. So do I. "But what are you going to do about it?" I ask. "If Riley's as untouchable as you make him sound, then there's nothing you could do . . . except for tail him." And then as an afterthought, "and I'm not sure that's quite legal."

"Quite right about that," Webb said. "All we have is circumstantial evidence. And that . ." he pauses, looking at us intently, "is useless when it comes arresting."

"So what do you want us to do?" I repeat, like a bad tape recorder that won't shut off.

Webb looks at me uncertainly. "We need someone on the _inside_."

Apparently this is supposed to have some deep meaning.

Webb rephrases. "We need someone close to Riley, someone who can get into his head and so some very legal searching. Get enough dirt on him so that we can make a formal arrest."

"And who's going to–" _and then I cotton on. _"No . . . not me. You can't mean me."

Webb shows no interest. "Riley is obviously taken with you from the over-enthusiastic roll he played in the Santa Monica scenario."

My eyes widen but then I shrug. Of course, Webb's the head of this op. _He would know._

"And it would be extremely helpful to the plan if we had someone on the inside," Webb continued calmly. "And that, Mac, would be you."

"No," Harm said, jumping in to speak for me. "It's too dangerous."

"He's not the Phantom, Rabb," Webb shot back. "He's in the clear. We don't even know if Riley knows that he's being used by the Phantom. Heck, it might not even be Riley that _is _being used."

Webb lifts his eyes to meet Harm's, not mine. "I promise no harm will come to her."

"You can't do that." Harm whispers. "Both you and I know that."

"It's not your decision," Webb replies forcefully.

"That's right," I butt in. And then I turn to Webb, "and it's not yours either." I sigh slowly. "It's mine, and–" I cut in, looking directly at Harm. "I'll be the one to make it."

"Then why the hell am I here?!" Harm exploded. I guess it must take a lot for Harm to blow, or something like that, but he's mad. I can tell. And I know he's mad at me too. But I'm only part of it. There's a big picture, and Webb's a large piece of that puzzle.

"Because," Webb said grimly. "You're a big part of that puzzle too."

"Well, then tell us," Harm hissed.

"You, Rabb, I believe, went to the USNA in the year 1985," Webb concluded quietly.

"Yes," Harm replied, showing no signs to hide his evident boredom.

"That was one year before the Phantom's victims," Webb said.

"Yes," Harm replied quickly. "So I'm not in any danger. Get to the point, Webb."

"What if you weren't in the year 1985?"

"Huh," Harm grunted.

_Yeah . . . huh?_

"What if you were in the year of 1986 just like Lieutenant Commander Baron and the rest?" Webb asked calmly.

"Then I'd probably be dead," Harm said tiredly. I stare at him with one of those _Don't Joke About That _faces, and he obeys . . . to some extent.

"Or, at least, you'd be on the list," Webb said, staring meaningfully at us. "You and god-knows-how-many people."

I catch on. I catch on in that very instant and I feel my heart jump into my throat.

"No, Webb," I reply, shaking my head. "You're not going to . . ."

"We get Mac to set you up for the fall," Webb said quickly, interrupting me and not seeming to care. "And we cover you the entire time. The Phantom tries to kill you and we get him . . . simple as that."

"Absolutely not!" both Harm and I shout at the same time.

"You are not going to make Harm a victim!" I holler at Webb, not caring who overhears me. "You're going to get him killed!"

"And how can you let Mac get so close to the Phantom . . . or Riley . . . or whatever!" Harm hollers back at Webb. We both know what we meant and we've just realized something . . . something we've known all along but never voiced aloud.

We know what's most important to us . . . each other. And we've just proved it.

"As I said before," Webb said, unfazed by our outburst. "I can't make you do anything. You don't work for me. You don't work for the Agency. It's entirely your choice."

Something in his voice informs me he wants us to accept his mission. On the other hand . . . common sense says to ignore him. I couldn't bare anything happening to Harm. Not before . . . not before something happens with us. I'm not going to be one of those people that's going to wonder for the rest of their lives 'What if'. Not with Harm. He's too damn precious to me.

"No way," Harm breathes, his eyes suddenly fogged with thunderclouds. He looks scary . . . now I know why I don't get in his way when he's mad. Though usually I'm the cause of his anger. And I know he won't lay a finger on me . . . I use that power way too much.

"There is no possible way, Webb," Harm says, his voice steady but lined with anger and menace. He turns to look at me. "Right, Mac?"

I bite my bottom lip and close my eyes. Webb needs us. I mean, _he really needs us. _And there's a serial killer on the loose . . . so we should help. But it's Webb, and it's dangerous, and once again we're going to nearly-kill ourselves. Or maybe this time we'll go all out and end up next to each other in Arlington. Not a comforting thought.

"We can't, Webb," I say quietly. "Not again."

Webb nods his head, as if suddenly coming to an understanding. He taps the dashboard of the cab almost thoughtfully and then hauls himself out, Harm and I following him. I stand up out of the car and tuck one flyaway hair behind my ear. Webb looks so lost.

Harm reaches for my hands as if he knows exactly what I'm thinking. I hold it closely, he does know. Harm turns around and I follow him . . . to the end of the earth, if he wishes.

And then Webb speaks.

"I lost my father to the Phantom," he says in barely a whisper, but his voice could cut glass, it's so strong. "And I won't let anyone else die . . . not in the hands of the Phantom." He looks up from the ground to stare intently at Harm, with a stare I can't quite place. Mixed feelings. "And you of all people, Rabb, should understand that."

I can feel Harm tense beside me. Webb gets into his little cab and drives away, leaving Harm and I standing outside in the bitter cold. Harm refuses to move and I don't try and push him. Webb meant for those words to sting . . . and they did. They hurt him badly and I can't help but stay out there with him.

"We have to help him, Mac," Harm says after god-knows-how-long. "We can't let anyone else die. And we're . . ." his voice catches, "their only help."

"Webb doesn't deserve it," I whisper in reply.

Harm turns to me, his eyes connection with mine and instantly forming a bond that cannot be broken. "I'm not doing it for Webb."

**A/N: Yes, we're actually getting into things now. And I guarantee, the next chapter will be much better. If I go on . . and I will if you review. **


	11. Now or Never

**A/N: Sorry I haven't written in a long time. Midterm exams, you know how they can be. Strenuous. Anyways, sorry the last few chapters haven't been very shippery. Shipperiness officially starts now. And, you know the drill. RR**

**Now or Never**

Mac's sitting in my apartment, on my couch. Despite everything that has happened over the past few days, I find myself more drawn to her, more attracted to her than I ever have been (if possible). She's pouring over the files, completely oblivious to the fact that I can't tear my eyes off her. She's beautiful in every way. And I finally feel that we actually have a shot.

I can't help the fact that I feel she's a little attracted to me today. _Okay, so even an idiot a couple hundred miles away could sense the sparks we're initiating. _But I don't want to screw this up. This is Mac. This is different from any other relationship I've ever had. She's my best friend . . . she's more. She's always been more; I was just too blind to see it.

"Okay, Harm, take your pick," Mac says turning towards me and I quickly avert my eyes so that it doesn't look like I was staring at her. "Commander Jason Weaver or Commander Evan Hart?"

We're picking an identity for me. Out of those enlisted in year 1986, we've managed to find those that are described with the same features as me. Then, I just switch identities with one of them and I'm instantly a target for assassination.

"What are their descriptions?" I ask, peering over her shoulder, though I don't really need to. I'm tall enough to see the file from where I sit but any excuse to be closer to her, I take. And as soon as I come within one inch of her I'm infatuated with that smell that is so uniquely Mac.

"Tall, dark, and handsome," Mac said sarcastically, but smiling at me at the same time. "What do you think? They've got the same description as your file."

"They're six foot four?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.

"In the neighborhood," Mac said smirking. "No one's perfect."

_You are._

"Both stations are in the DC area," she reported. "That way we'll be close and the Phantom doesn't have to go out of their way."

"Why don't we just string up neon lights over my apartment that says 'PHANTOM TARGET'," I say sarcastically. "That'll be so much easier."

"Hey, may I remind you that you _volunteered_ for this," Mac said with extra emphasis on the 'volunteered' part. But I can see something in her eyes. Some sort of shadow, possibly worry.

"Well, we have to catch the Phantom some way," I defend myself.

"No, _we _don't have to catch the Phantom," Mac retorted. "The Phantom must be caught. I know why we were brought into this . . . I just don't think it's quite in the job description."

"I'd bet you'd _love _for your warming up to Riley being in your job description," I shoot back quickly. God, she makes it _sound _as if there's nowhere I'd rather be than in the pit of danger. For instance, I could be back with Mac . . . in her apartment . . . with her.

_Yes, that last part was definitely the most important._

"You know what you're being a real ass about this," Mac suddenly snapped, her eyes meeting mine dangerously, angry enough to issue sparks. "I was never going to agree to this. You did for us. And now you make it sounds as if I _want _to do this."

I don't meet her eyes. I know she's right. I turn away, suddenly feeling something very powerful stinging me. An emotion that I've only experienced with one person. Mac. And from what everyone's described, it goes way beyond 'friendliness'.

"Harm, there's only one person I _really _care about," she whispered softly, standing up and positioning herself directly in front of me. She touches my chin with her finger, bringing my face up to meet her eyes. "And he's trying to get himself killed."

I stare at her hard. She's talking about me . . . I think. My eyes connect with hers and I can tell instantly . . . _it's definitely me. _

I trail my fingers over her cheek, then I trace them around her lips and then I bend my head in. We're generating so much heat I feel like I'm kissing her before my lips are anywhere near the same zone as hers. She tips her head up. I'm trying to kiss her . . . _and she's letting me!_

"Rabb, Mackenzie!"

I pause, my eyes closed, my forehead resting on Mac's. _Dammit, it can't be. Not now._

"Colonel! Commander! Get your sixes in here now!"

_Oh, yes, it can._

_

* * *

__My God, we were so close. So close._

That's all I'm thinking about as I face the Admiral while sitting on Harm's couch. One inch away . . . probably less. And the Phantom has to interrupt us once again.

"We've received the call from Admiral Anders consenting to your presence in his squadron," the Admiral informed us. "I assume by now you have picked an identity?"

"Uh, yes, sir," Harm responds, completely disoriented. A near-kiss can do that to you.

"And that is?" the Admiral asked, his eyebrow rose.

"Commander Jason Hart," Harm babbled. I take in a sharp breath of air. The Admiral looks at the both of us funny.

"I wasn't aware he was one of the options," the Admiral said.

_Then Harm realizes what he said._

"I mean, Commander Evan Hart," Harm corrects himself quickly.

"Good choice," the Admiral said, not entirely oblivious to our closeness. We had only a moment to dive onto the couch before the Admiral came into the room. And at that moment we were only an inch apart. "I trust you'll depart tomorrow."

"Yes, sir," Harm responded.

"And Colonel," the Admiral said, turning to me. "I've already sent a letter to NCIS saying that you're coming back."

I nod.

"Commander Riley said he would be happy to have you."

I take this moment to turn to Harm instead of replying. His face looks like it was etched of stone. _But he knows . . . he knows I'd never go for Riley. Then again, didn't I say something like that about Mic . . . or Clay . . . oh my._

"Colonel?"

Thoughts come back to my head. "Yes, sir."

The Admiral stares at me intently, his voice suddenly growing quiet. "We want you to come back." He then turns to Harm. "We want you both to come back."

"And we will," I say a bit over confidently.

"Good," the Admiral responds, his voice as quick as a beat now, back to his own brisk manner. "Then I'll leave you now. We'll keep in touch."

He turns as if to go but then twists on his heels to face us again. "And maybe, in the mean time," he stares at us both intently, "you could work something out." His smile is replaced by his usual stern look. "Use a closet if you have to. And that's an order."

With a small smirk of content, he strode out of Harm's apartment leaving us a little open mouthed. I stare at Harm who looks more than a little disoriented now. In fact, he looks down right shocked.

"Well, I guess that proved what we already know," I said quietly, staring ahead of me.

"What?" Harm asks, turning towards me.

I meet his eyes, instantly forming unbreakable eye contact. "He isn't oblivious to _us."_

* * *

_Us. _I love the way she says it. _Us. _It sounds so right, especially coming from her lips. No, the Admiral isn't oblivious to us. No one is, not even _us. _God, there's that word again.

Mac's arm reaches over as though magnetically drawn to mine. It loops around my arm and her hand rests inside mine. She looks up at me, more beautiful than imaginable, and smiles at me. I give a Cheshire grin. "Now where were we?"

Mac grins back at me. "The files," she said and placed one in my hands, breaking our contact. "Study up, Evan."

"But wait," I call as she turns around. "You're leaving?"

"One of us has to make the first move," she says softly, with so much meaning in that phrase. "And this _is _your apartment."

"Stay," I say simply. I look out the window but there's no snow.

She walks up to me, staring into my eyes with her beautiful chocolate brown ones. "If I stay, I'm never going to leave."

"And what's so bad about that?" I whisper, tilting my head towards hers.

"Nothing . . ." she trails off. "Not yet."

She probably would have said more but she's exhausted, I can tell. I lean in and capture her lips with mine. We stare there, as if paused in time, her lips on mine, my hand gently stroking the small of her back. She moves her hand to stroke my cheek. Apparently we don't need air anymore.

She breaks away and then lays her head on my shoulder. She _is _exhausted.

"Come on," I said gently. "I'll drive you to NCIS tomorrow."

"Right," she says tiredly, but not without sarcasm. "Commander Hart, the next victim, is going to drive the person who's trying to catch the Phantom right into the Phantom's lair."

I pause, still holding Mac close to me. I don't want to admit it, but it's now or never. "I don't want you to go."

Mac raises her head from my shoulder. "What?"

"I don't want you to go," I repeat. "It's too dangerous."

A faint form of a smile creeps onto her lips. "Yours is much more dangerous than mine."

I stare down at the floor. "I don't want anything to happen to you Mac." I raise my eyes to meet hers. "Now or Never."

That sentence just hangs in the air. She smiles at me and places one tender kiss on my lips. "Ditto, Flyboy."

I hold her in my arms, rocking her back and forth. She yawns both tiredly and contently. "Hey, Marine, you sleepy?"

She has her head resting on mine. She nods.

"Come on," I said, and placing my arms around her, I pick her up. I can feel her snuggle in close to me. I place her on the bed, the _left _side of the bed and I take my usual spot, on the right. She burrows into me, her head coming to rest on my chest.

I look at Mac's sleeping form, snuggled in as close as she can to mine. "I love you, Mac."

* * *

I wake up to the smell of boiling coffee. I roll to my left sleepily and feel . . . air. I open my eyes. Mac's no longer beside me. In fact, she's nowhere to be seen.

"Mac!" I call, suddenly sitting up stiffly. I get out of bed. I'm still wearing the clothes I was last night. Something takes over me. Fear.

I exit my bedroom and enter the kitchen. The coffee maker's bubbling with freshly brewed coffee. And on the top of it is a note scrawled in Mac's neat cursive.

_Thanks again for the wonderful sleep, Flyboy. Be careful._

_Xoxo,_

_Ninja Girl_

I stare at the message, a Mac-intended smile forming on my face. _Be careful_. Definitely. Because now I have something . . . someone to come home to.

_**A/N: Alright, I already apologized on the late posting of this chapter. But review anyways! Please . . . tell me if I should continue or not.**_


	12. Snoops and Spooks

**A/N: thank you so much for the reviews. As always, I love them. Special thanks to:**

**joanoa, GuitarVixen, Bite Beccy, alix33, starryeyes10, SpaceMan546, Wendy Kaye, froggy0139, Jackia, Tina Frank, Lyssa Grace, snosamie6, cbw, Nesabj, Arian04, RoleModel2, Tomcat GM, jaka, mara-rabb, Abigaile, mjag, MichelleLee** **and anyone else who reviewed!**

**Snoops and Spooks **

"Hello, Sarah," said Riley, extending his hand out to me. He flashes his perfect teeth in my direction. "It's a pleasure to have you back."

"Thanks, Aaron," I say smiling back. It's not hard to be nice to Riley, like it is to Webb. He's generally a likeable guy. Heck, if I didn't know he was helping whoever's killing the 1986s, then I'd probably make friends with him. If Harm were here, he'd point out that we'd probably become more.

"Where's Commander Rabb?" he asks, generally friendly. We're sitting inside his office of the NCIS wing. They've given me a desk in the bullpen but so far I've spent about a grand total of 2 minutes and 47 seconds there, and all that time was them actually _showing _me my desk.

"He had some work to do on the Delissari Case," I lie easily. "He had to remain behind. But I was interested in this case and Webb said that you might need an extra hand."

I flash him a smile that I'm sure reeks of phoniness but he's so phony himself that he probably doesn't notice.

He smiles back. "Well, I'm glad you're here."

I'm about to say something, I don't know what, when his intercom turns on. I can instantly recognize the voice of Ms. Lindsey, his secretary.

"Sir, there's a gentleman here to see you. He wouldn't give me any identification, but he told me to give you an envelope–"

"Thanks, Angie, I'll get it as soon as I'm done with the Colonel," he says quickly, almost nervously. "Just keep it in your desk."

"I have many letters here, why don't I just deliver it?"

"Really, Angie," Riley cuts of quickly. "I'll receive it later."

"He told me to give it to you straight away."

"Well, I'll take it later. I'll pick it up after lunch," Riley says irritably.

"Wouldn't you like me to bring it to you?"

"No," said Riley quickly. Wow, he looks nervous. Is that sweat on his forehead? "I'm sure it's of no importance."

"But the gentleman said that it was very im–"

"Dammit, Angie, I'm with the Colonel right now, I do not want the letter!" Riley screamed.

I stare at him. _What the hell?_

My mind clicks on, a buzz of questions developing in my head.

Someone dropped off an envelope for Riley. Who?

_Lindsey doesn't know._

What does the envelope contain?

_Obviously something of great importance or Riley wouldn't make such a fuss._

Why IS he making such a fuss?

_Because I'm here._

What's in it?

_I guess I'm about to find out. _

* * *

"Ow," I exclaim, my eye watering. I blink back a tear and stare at a little fold out mirror on the desk. One of my pure blue eyes is now a smoky grey color.

"Nice," I whisper.

"I thought you'd think so," laughs Catherine Gayle, whirling me around in the swiveling office chair. I'm in the CIA headquarters getting my disguise fit into Commander Evan Hart's. They say they don't have to change my appearance . . . much. _Yeah, right._

"Now Commander could you please put in the other one," says a lady named Edna with apparently no last name. She's helping me into my disguise. So far she's been doing pretty well. I'm in the process of having my eyes changed to grey; I've got very vibrant chestnut brown hair with golden highlights running through it. Oh yeah, and here's the kicker, I have a _marine _haircut. A Navy with a _marine _haircut. I still can't understand it.

I run my hand along my freshly cut head, wincing as I feel the short strands.

"Oh, it'll grow back," mumbled Edna irritably as she fixes my other eye. "Honestly, you lawyers, always picking at the details."

I grin, looking at myself in the mirror. I look _really _different. I don't say that in a bad way. Sure, I could do without the haircut; it makes my ears look like they're sticking out, but everything else is going smoothly.

"Hey, Catherine," I call her as I turn to see her helping Edna pick out which clothes should come with me. They've photographed all of Hart's clothes and are now adjusting them to fit my size. If I were Hart, I would have deeply objected. _I don't think I would have wanted a pack of spooks photographing my underwear and then stretching it so it'd fit someone else. _

"Yeah, Harm?" she asks, turning around. She walks over to my chair and Edna goes to busy herself with something, leaving us as alone as we'll probably get to be.

"You still haven't told me why you're here," I say with a slight frown. "Don't get me wrong, I like the company, but don't you have work?"

I stare at her and she hesitates for a split second before answering, "I have work."

"Then . . ?" I prod.

She smiles slightly. "I'm working right now."

I stare at her and then my eyes expand. "You're not . . . coming with me, are you?"

"You need back up," she says grinning. "And who better than having a girlfriend to be with you whenever _you're_ not working?"

"But," I stutter quickly. "Have you even worked in a field operation? I mean, the desk and undercover don't quite compare."

"Well," she said flashing me a smile as she exited out of the room so I could get dressed, "I hear I'm learning from the best."

* * *

"Hey, Sarah, I'm going for my lunch break," Riley says coming up from behind me. "Would you like to join me?"

I finally got to try out that new desk of mine (_like I was dying to_) and now I'm sitting typing away on the computer they also hooked me up with, trying to form a connection between all the victims and Riley. They don't add up.

Before I took on the mission, I was equipped with Riley's full biography. I've got everything but his mother's cousin's neighbor's underwear size. And, from where I stand, everything is pristine. Spotless, too good be true.

As a kid, he got straight As. He played on his high school basketball team, went out for college football, and get this, after attending Princeton; he went to Harvard, before settling on WestPoint. He's not overweight, not under, _just right. _He doesn't even have a speeding ticket to his name.

He's got one sister, who lives in Connecticut with her perfect little family, and they talk once every three days. He lives in a very comfortable apartment, not far from the NCIS building.

_Also not far from the Santa Monica hotels, _I observe. But, as Webb said, he being the Phantom is absolutely out of the question. When Lieutenant Commander Lyndon Tang was being murdered in Detroit, Riley was giving a speech to the Committee on Anti-Drug action.

_He's a modern day saint._

"No thanks," I reply smiling. "How about a rain check? _Tonight, _maybe?"

_Well, what else am I going to do? Go and visit Harm? Or should I say, Commander Evan Hart._

"I'd love that," he replied, also grinning. "But I can't make it tonight. I have . . . previous engagements. Perhaps, tomorrow night?" he said and then quickly added. "If you're not busy."

"I think I can squeeze you in," I replied. "See you in a bit."

"You're not going to grab some lunch?" he asked, leaning on my desk. _My desk._

"I'm not very hungry," I say, somewhat modestly. I had smuggled a Beltway Burger underneath my jacket and into a compartment in my desk. "Besides," I lie quickly. "I don't eat a lot."

"I can see that," Riley said, his eyes trailing up and down my body. _If I wasn't on a mission and he wasn't leaning on my desk, which I do not intend to break, he would be on the floor getting the crap beat out of him._

_Damn, he's one lucky snoop._

"Is there anything you would like me to do?" I ask briskly, in the back-to-marine-work-mode. I catch his raising eyebrow, "while you're on lunch break."

Riley grins and turns around, pushing open the swinging door. "What you're doing is just fine."

* * *

"Hello, Agent Rabb," O'Neil greets me, a secretive smile spreading to her lips. I raise my eyebrow. This is certainly an interesting sight. Catherine Gayle and Beth O'Neil sitting at a table, in the coffee room of CIA Headquarters (_I, personally, never knew they had one_) drinking a cup of coffee and chatting as if they were two high school girls waiting to be asked out to the dance.

"Beth," I greet. "And Catherine. Amazing coincidence that you both just happen to be here."

"Oh, it's no coincidence, Harm," Catherine says smiling. "You know, we were catching up, talking about the mission." She catches my eye. "And telling our favorite Harm stories."

"Yes," Beth buts in before I can say anything. "I find your and Catherine's marriage very interesting Harm." She grins at me. "Especially the fact that you hit on me _after _you two were basking in marital bliss."

"Do you two have anything better to do than gossip?" I ask tiredly, but also filled with wonderment at the same time. Go figure, two spooks would get together after, _no, _I remind myself, _right in the middle of work, _to go talk about who was cheating on who.

"No, not really," Catherine sighs. "But we do have some questions concerning your love life, Harm."

"As a wife, you should know these things," I chide.

"Funny, Harm," she says, grinning sarcastically. "But seriously, what's going on with you and Mac?"

"Yeah," Beth chimed in. "We're just _dying _to know."

I grin. "You'd think two people in the CIA, furthermore, one of them _in _the communications department would be able to figure out what was going on between to lowly lawyers," I say and then catch myself, "_if _anything was going on between them."

"Oh, we've already got all the info," Catherine said, boredom etched into her voice. "At least, most of it."

"Yes," Beth said nodding, "and we're very interested to know why Mac slept at your apartment last week."

"Which time?" I ask idiotically.

They both squeal

"You mean there was a second!" exclaimed Catherine.

_No . . . yes . . . do you count last night?_

"Well, nothing happened," I growled defensively. "It was snowing really hard, the roads were terrible, and–"

"You couldn't stand the thought of her getting hurt," Beth finishes for me. She and Catherine shoot each other meaningful glances.

"Oh, cut it out!" I say crossly. "Mac and I aren't like that. Things are . . ." I struggle for the words, "complicated."

"Complicated in a good way or complicated in a good way?" Catherine asks. The squealing has died down a bit. For now. Now they're just genuinely interested . . . if two women can be that without dying to know.

"Complicated in an I-don't-know way," I replied groggily. "And why are you here, O'Neil? I was told to come here to talk about the _assignment_," I stress. "Not about Mac and I."

"Men," Beth sighs. "They're just crippled when it comes to multitasking."

"Tell me about it," Catherine rolls her eyes.

"_About the Assignment,_" I say loudly, but they just ignore me.

"Do you think Mac knows?" Beth asks.

"She would have to be blind if she didn't see it," Catherine responds.

"Enough!" I holler. "Beth, _why are you here?"_

"Tisk, tisk," admonishes Beth, "I'm afraid I just haven't raised you with manners."

"What _are _you talking about?" I ask, my head suddenly feeling very fuzzy.

"Can't you recognize your own mother?" asks Beth grinning.

I stare at her for a minute, and then I turn to Catherine to see if she's joking. She isn't.

"You can't be my mother," I spit out. "There's no way you're old enough. You don't _look _old enough."

"I'm glad someone thinks so," Beth says grinning. "But I'm supposed to be relatively young," she stares at me with steely eyes. "I had you at fifteen."

"My God," I sigh. "So you're in this too?"

I turn my stare towards Catherine. "I don't mean to be rude, but I don't need all this back up."

Catherine stands up, glaring at me hard and then walks out the door followed by Beth. "That's not your decision to make."

* * *

"Ms. Lindsey," I say in a sickeningly sweet voice. Ms. Lindsey turns towards me looking a little hassled. I know the feeling, but her load of files has yet to even compare with mine back at JAG.

"Yes, ma'am?" she asks, a little coolly. I suppose she's not quite over Riley blowing his top. I can't say I blame her.

"Agent Riley sent me to take his envelope to him," I say calmly. Inside, my heart is beating fast.

"That's funny," Ms. Lindsey says turning her head to look at me square in the eye, "because he picked it up half an hour ago."

_Oh . . . Damn._

"Oh, I don't mean the envelope you were talking about earlier," I lie quickly. "He wanted the ones with the DNA samples of each victim."

"Well, I'll call you when they're in then," Ms. Lindsey snapped. "Until then, could you excuse me Colonel? I do have a lot of work to do."

"Sure," I said briskly, walking away from her desk.

_Okay, so Riley's already picked up the envelope. I didn't even see him . . . he must be good. So, the envelope has to be . . ._

In his office. I stand in front of Riley's office and gently try the door. It's locked. I turn around to make sure no one in the bullpen is watching me. Most of them have gone out to lunch and the rest could care less about me.

I turn back to the doorknob. Time for a little trick that I learned in the Corp. I jiggle the knob hard, making it move up and down with my hand and then I pushed the nail of my index finger of my other hand into the keyhole.

It hurts like heck, as the nail bends to receive the shape that key is, 'but,' I grin with satisfaction as the door opens. 'So totally worth it.'

I enter the office. It, just like Riley's past, is clean, absolutely empty of any incriminating evidence. The book shelves are in proper order. The books are even in alphabetical order. His desk is tidy, tidy being an understatement. It's practically bare except for a framed photo.

I go to his desk, sit myself down in his chair, and begin my search. There are four drawers underneath the desk, two on either side. I open the first one on the left but there's only supplies of pencils, pens, erasers, note pads, nothing strange.

I open the bottom left one. There are numerous files, most not even relating to the case. They must be cases Riley has solved in the past . . . or hasn't.

I shiver a bit. _That's really creepy._

I turn to the right side of the desk. It's completely symmetrical to the other side, with the first drawer containing glue, paper weights, extra ink cartridges, and other such office things and the second containing more files. I frown. He has to be some sort of robot.

I'm about to close the fourth drawer, the one with all the files in it, when I notice something. Something unsymmetrical to the other bottom drawer. There's a small little notch in the drawer, right at the side, and barely recognizable. I run my hand along it, and hear something click. All of a sudden, there's a whirring sound and out of a slit at the back of a drawer, an envelope shoots out.

To say I'm amazed would be an understatement. _This is an excerpt out of Nancy Drew._

I pick up the envelope. Riley's names written on the front, the address of the NCIS building, and it was dated today. There was no return address, but then again, the sender delivered it in person.

I open the envelope carefully. Inside is a single sheet of white paper. I turn it over so I can read the printing.

_What the . . ._

"Sarah!"

My head cocks up. Riley's at the doorway, his eyes bulging in fury.

_Oh shit._

**A/N: Hey people, sorry this chapter was a long time coming, but I made it longer than usual to make up for it. Alright, things are rolling along now; we're ready to get into some action. And I'm ready to continue . . . if you review. **


	13. Sent Messages

**A/N: To all those who didn't read my Author's Note on Chapter 13 (which incidentally is the same as Chapter 12) there was a malfunction and some states/provinces received chapter 12 on their computer whereas my own city didn't, so I took the liberty of posting it again and that's when both chapters actually were seen by all computers. Sorry if you already read that chapter!**

**Now, let's pick up from where we left off . . . with Mac in Riley's office.**

**Sent Messages**

"What are you doing in here!" Riley screams. I don't know how I ever thought Riley was even remotely good looking. His blue eyes are now wild, jumping around in their sockets, and his blond hair is issuing sparks.

_Keep it cool, Mackenzie. Be calm._

"The file," I lie quickly, and I pull out the file on top of the envelope, quickly slipping it back into its slit. Hopefully Riley doesn't notice. "Ms. Lindsey let me into your office so I could take the forensics' file. I'm sorry if I disturbed you."

I said it obediently, as though I really was sorry. If I was going to suck up to Riley, I would have to act weaker than he was.

His expressions softened, but his glare remained hard. He walked over to the desk and looked into the fourth drawer. I guess what he saw pleased him. There must be some outward way to see if the envelope's in its proper slit, even though I never saw the difference.

"I'm sorry for overreacting," he replied. "Next time you want something from my office, just wait until I'm around. I'll get it for you."

"Sure," I replied shakily, exiting his office. I sit at my desk and out of the corner of my eye, I watch Riley run his hands along the last drawer and then hastily withdraw the envelope. I held my breath as he inspected the envelope. He frowned slightly.

Slowly, I pulled out a piece of paper and with my Marine Memory in action, I wrote down exactly what had been written on the slip of paper. 24 letters and one number.

M E E O A E A C C T E T I A 7 T T A F P M H R E M

* * *

"Commander Hart?" Admiral Garret said, his eyebrow raised a little. Admiral Garret was tall, taller than me, with the look the Admiral had, a very cut man with too many years of experience.

"As reporting for duty, Admiral," I reply with the faintest trace of a smile.

Garret smiled and shot a sideways glance at Catherine. "He's pretty good. Looks like Hart also."

"Yeah," Catherine replies smiling. "That was a bit of a bonus."

"I hear, Commander, that you have experience flying," Garret said, sitting down in his office seat. "F-14s, I do believe?"

"That would be correct, sir," I reply steely-eyed.

"But you can fly F-18s as well," he said. He waits for my confirming nod. I give it to him. "Good, because Hart hardly every flew F-14s. They were always F-18s."

He stares at me, then Catherine, and then to Beth who was sitting quietly in the corner. "I don't know what's going on, Commander. None of us at the Base do. But we lost Lieutenant Commander Baron to cold blooded murder, and we don't want to lose anyone else. I think I can speak for everyone when I say that if you ever need help, just ask. We are all glad to serve you."

"Thank you, sir," I replied, with a tone of true patriotism.

"Everyone has been informed about the current situation," Garret reported. "At least, everyone that needs to know. Which really isn't many. If you spend most of the day up in your plane, we'll have no problem with anyone recognizing you on the ground."

"And if someone does recognize me, sir?" I ask.

"Don't worry about that," Garret said quickly. "If they only catch a fleeting glimpse of you, they'll assume you really _are_ Hart. And as for your rio, Lieutenant Amanda Boyer has already been cleared by the CIA and informed of the present situation." He stares at me. "You can trust her, Commander."

"I don't think trust will be an issue," I say, nodding. "I look forward to meeting Lieutenant Boyer."

"Not too much forward, though," whispered Catherine grinning softly in my ear.

"And, Commander," said Admiral Garret, turning towards me as we began to head out the door. "If you ever have any suspicions as to who is behind the 1986 murders, please let me know."

"I'll do my best, Admiral," I said as we saluted in way of parting.

"That's good enough for me," Garret responded softly. "But if you're taking Hart's place, then whose on the case?"

"Besides half the FBI, NCIS, and a mixed part of the CIA," I say quickly, "my partner, Lieutenant Colonel Sarah Mackenzie."

I say the last part with a touch of pride. I had not forgotten this morning, or last night, or any day or night with her, for that matter. And if anyone could catch the Phantom and save my six while doing it, it would be her.

Garret notices that vote confidence embedded in my voice. "And you believe she will be able to catch the Phantom?"

"I have no doubts, sir," I replied. And then very quietly to myself, "none at all."

* * *

M E E O A E A C C T E T I A 7 T T A F P M H R E M 

I stare at the letters (_and one number_, I add to myself) on the page. Half of my mind says that this can't be right. The letters make no sense. And then the other half that suffered through intense Marine training knows that I couldn't forget a simple 25 digit line.

No, this is definitely right, I tell myself. But what does it mean?

There are 24 letters and 1 number. So therefore, that number has to mean a time, number of a house, or it could mean anything.

I realize it's pretty much hopeless before I even begin. I play with the letters a bit, using something called mirrored order when you split the alphabet in half and made it like a mirror so that A was Z, B was Y, etc.

They now read: N W W L Z W Z X X G V G R Z 7 G G Z U K N S I V N

_And of course that still didn't make sense. _I bit back my frustration. Maybe I could use reverse order and see if that worked, splitting the alphabet in half once more except when reaching the letter 'M' which was the dividing letter, starting afresh in numbers so that 'A' would become 'N' and 'B' would become 'O'.

They now read: Z R R B N R N P P G R T V N 7 G G N S C

_And that doesn't make sense either. _

I bit back my frustration. Code breaking. What a time consuming job.

No, the letters were right. The original letters were correct, they were just in the wrong order. The letters shown in the original message were very common, daily used letters and therefore it was highly unlikely they were playing others.

I lined up the letters in rows, except there was 25 of them, not quite divisible by two, or three, or four for that matter. But, I realize, it did make a five by five square. I scribbled them down, quickly in order in to a five by five square.

M E E O A

E A C C T

E T I A 7

T T A F P

M H R E M

I gasped as I read the message. That's all the code needed. A little order. The message was exactly 25 digits, forming a perfect square that, if read vertically, skipping to the next column after finishing the first, it read:

_Meet me at the Ciaro Café at 7 pm_

* * *

"Ready to go, Commander?" asked Lieutenant Boyer, coming up from behind me. We're dressed in the traditional flight gear. It's six o'clock at night. I inhale that crisp night air, surveying the deck with tremendous satisfaction. 

_I'm flying again, _a voice says inside me, screaming with joy. _I'm flying again._

The sky is bathed in the royal blue light of evening with a blood red sun sinking behind the water, casting an eerie orange glow over the water. I stare into the sun, not even squinting as I'm hit by its rays. And the sun stares back at me, a face mirrored in its body.

_A beautiful face, at that, _I thought quietly. _One with long thick dark brown hair and chocolate colored eyes that scream of the puppy dog pout that I can't resist._

And not for the first time since I had been airlifted to the aircraft carried I wondered what Mac was doing at this moment. What was she thinking? Was she thinking of me? Was she with Riley?

I couldn't hide the fact that I was scared for her. I was scared for myself too, but not nearly as much as I was her. No matter what anyone said, on this mission, Mac had the more dangerous job. She somewhat made it a habit to risk her life for mine and I knew that if the case presented itself once again, she wouldn't hold her breath to jump in front of a bullet for me . . . just like I wouldn't for her.

That was how our relationship works, I guess. The willingness to repeatedly risk our own lives for each others kept up the course towards friendship. Like Mac when we were in Russia, and me when we were in Paraguay.

But, I vowed, if she did anything like that this time, I would . . . I would . . . I couldn't even bring myself to finish the sentence. Would I die? Probably not. If she were to get hurt, would I feel like I was dead? Most likely. Because, as I was coming to realize, not only would I be willing to do anything for her, it was the fact that she reciprocated those exact feelings was the part that attracted me the most to her. It was also the part of her that I most feared.

Because, as I was also coming to realize, that not only did we get ourselves into many sticky situations, it demanded things beyond our control to get us out of them. And that consisted of luck. Something that, at some time, we were bound to run out of.

_And I love Mac too much for that. _My heart practically soared with feeling. I did. I loved Mac. I loved Mac far beyond the point that it was even healthy to love a person. I'm so madly in love with her that every night when I go to sleep, I dream of her face and every morning when I wake, I wish I could go back to sleep to see her once more.

"Thinking of someone?" smiled Commander Boyer. Her words pull me out of my dream world. I stare at her. We're leaning on the deck, watching all the Tomcats take off. The Admiral insists it's alright for me to be out here seeing as anyone who saw me from below would mistake me for Hart.

"You could say that," I said, smiling slightly at her.

"Someone back in DC?" she asked, returning my grin. Her long dark brown hair flies in the beating wind, reminding me of Mac even more, if possible.

"Yeah," I sighed. "Boy, if she knew I was flying . . ." I cut off

"A she is it?" Amanda says, her eyebrow rising in interest. "And what would she do if she knew you were flying? Kill you?"

"Something like that," I shrug. "She's never quite gotten over the last time I crashed."

"Which was?" she prodded.

"Well," I correct myself. "The last time she was with me when I crashed, so, I guess the time before that. Which was," I add, eyeing her, "about three years ago."

"You've crashed more than twice?" she laughed.

"Four times, actually."

She grinned. "You sound like a dangerous man, Commander. But," she said smiling, "a little danger never hurt a girl."

"Talking to you doesn't make you sound any tamer," I accused, laughing.

She nodded, "you're probably right. But," she said quickly, turning to me. "I've only crashed twice, and only had to eject once."

"Doesn't sound the safest," I comment.

"Safer than you," she pointed out. She grins and laughs wildly, "We're going to be one hell of a team."

"That we are," I agree.

"Commander, Lieutenant!"

My guard instantly go up and I turn so that my back's to the door while Amanda whirls around.

"Yes, Petty Officer?" she asks sharply.

"Control Tower says they're read for you," he reported, turning around and leaving as quickly as possible.

I exhale calmly and Amanda returns to the rail, looking out at the sea with me. "Anyways, you were telling me about this girl," she said, gently prodding the subject. "Your girlfriend?"

"No," I say calmly. _Not yet . . ._

She suddenly moves a bit the to the side, as if trying to create distance between us. "Your wife?"

I laugh hollowly. "I wish."

The space that she created between us disappears. "Then who is she?"

I stare out into the water, my sea blue eyes mirroring the waves. "My best friend, Lieutenant. My best friend."

* * *

For one minute, I don't know what to do. Obviously this message is of importance. Significance, you might say. Because, if I'm right (which I'm sure I am) then Riley is going to meet with the Phantom at the Ciaro Café at 7 pm tonight. Now what was I going to do about that . . . ? 

Turning to my computer screen, I opened up my email account and typed out one email which I sent to three people.

_Ciaro Café. Tonight. 7 pm. R + P._

_– LCSM_

Picking my Subject heading for my email I typed in 'Importance'. And then, pressing the send button, three copies of the message was sent to Agent Clayton Webb of CIA, Admiral AJ Chegwidden of the Judge Advocate General Corp, and that wild pilot I can't seem to get out of my mind, my best friend Harm.


	14. Received Messages

**A/N: Thank you all so much for the reviews. As always, I just absolutely love them. I never thought I'd have so many reviews for Encrypted Legacy. Now, before we start this chapter, I just once again want to say that I NOW ACCEPT ANONYMOUS REVIEWS! I didn't know I wasn't accepting them before. I guess that's why all the reviews I received were signed.**

**Yeah, okay, that's a bit slow on my part but do review, because I do accept them anonymously now.**

**Anyways, back to the story . . .**

**Received Messages**

1527

CIA Headquarters

Langley, VA

_**Ciaro Café. Tonight. 7 pm. R + P.**_

– _**LCSM**_

Clayton Webb stared at that email for god-knows how long, a feeling of excitement, anticipation, and a pit of utter horror welling up inside of him. He had arrived at the building barely half an hour ago after expertly seeing Rabb off (though of course, Rabb didn't know it) and seeing that Mac was safely inside NCIS Headquarters (and naturally, she didn't know either).

And then he had come back to his own building to find the usual bundle of email awaiting him. He never deleted anything without reading it, CIA policy, but he was sorely tempted to this time, with the Phantom occupying most of his mind.

And then he had received the email. The latest message. He couldn't detect the sender, the email only said 'LCSM' whom he was certain he didn't know, and the title was 'Importance'.

The agent frowned slightly, reading the message over again. It wasn't like Clayton Webb to be puzzled by a relatively easy coded message. Barely coded, even. But, from what Clayton Webb could see, it was either a significant tip to the Phantom's whereabouts or they were baiting a trap for him.

_**Ciaro Café. Tonight. 7 pm. R + P.**_

– _**LCSM**_

He couldn't afford to take the latter, but he too couldn't afford to lose a tip that might put the man that murdered his father behind bars. And who was LCSM? And what did they mean by R + P?

Clayton Webb sat in his revolving office chair, mystified. The words were slowly playing in his head, running themselves over so that he might detect anything unusual. But of course, he reminded himself, the whole message was unusual. Did he know any agents with the initials LCSM?

No, he realized. He had no clue to as who LCSM was. And if it was important, why hadn't they at least given a hint to who they were? He could then safely determine whether it was really important or not. But then again, if it was the Phantom . . . they wouldn't exactly leave a calling card . . . would they?

Slowly, he seized the mouse of his computer in his hand and pressed one button. The 'Forward' button. And he forwarded the message to only two people.

But of course, they already had received their message . . .

* * *

**_Ciaro Café. Tonight. 7 pm. R + P._**

– _**LCSM**_

Admiral Albert-Jethro Chegwidden of Virginia's Judge Advocate General Corp stared at his message, his aged eyebrow cocked up in puzzlement. He read the message over again. Surely, this must be some sort of joke. Who sent emails like these anymore? And who the hell was LCSM?

The Admiral leaned back in his office chair, staring at the message mystified. Ciaro Café, 7 pm, R + P, what was R + P? Did he know them. He ran all the R names through his mind, stopping only at one. Rabb. But who was P?

There was the little sound of a bell ringing as a sign popped up '**1 New Message'. **Sighing, the Admiral opened this one up. Maybe this would make more sense than the other one.

Looking at the name of the sender, he saw it was from Agent Clayton Webb. The Admiral groaned. Whenever Webb emailed him, it was never good. Never.

He opened up the message but didn't even need to finish it before he knew what is said:

**_Ciaro Café. Tonight. 7 pm. R + P._**

– _**LCSM**_

Attached was a note from Webb that said he had received the email but had no idea as to what it meant and wanted to know if he knew the sender. The Admiral grunted. Whoever LCSM was, they were royally playing the both of them.

And if Clayton Webb couldn't figure out who the damn sender was, how was he supposed to? Irritated, the Admiral typed up a quick response to the CIA agent.

_**Received a message just like it. No idea who it is. Now, if you're through, I'm going to get back to my work.**_

_**- Admiral Chegwidden**_

He frowned as he pressed the send button. He didn't like not knowing things, and it made it worse if Webb didn't know because more often than not, Webb knew, he just didn't tell. But Agent Clayton Webb asking someone for help . . . this was a trademark moment.

Sighing, he went back to the R + P, which he had no idea as to what it meant. R. The only name that stuck out was Rabb. Slowly, he grasped the mouse and pressed the forward button.

And sent it to the one person who already had two copies of the email, adding a third . . .

* * *

_**Ciaro Café. Tonight. 7 pm. R + P.**_

– _**LCSM**_

I stared at the email. It was in brief shorthand code, but I understood it right away. LCSM, the person that I spent every millisecond thinking about, the person I love more than air itself, and the person who I'm unhealthily attracted to, Mac. That's who the email is from.

She must have gotten a lead, I figure. The Ciaro Café, tonight, at seven o'clock. I try and digest what I've just read. R + P. R + P. For a minute, I'm puzzled but then I remember, who is she trying to warm up to . . . Riley . . . and who is Riley tight with? Oh yeah, the Phantom. R + P.

Instantly, I'm afraid for her. She has a lead on something . . . Riley and the Phantom must be meeting. And apparently at the Ciaro Café at 7 pm. My eyebrow creases into a frown. What is she going to do? Obviously she emailed me because she wanted help, something I can't quite give when I'm on a carrier. But, I know someone who could . . .

**_LCSM,_**

_**Don't do anything dangerous. Help's on the way.**_

_**Love,**_

_**CHRJ**_

I press the send button and then quickly type up another email, same subject, different content.

**_Cat,_**

_**Ciaro Café, tonight at 7, meeting between Riley and Phantom. Mac tipped us off. **_

_**Contact Webb,**_

_**Harm**_

He pressed send on that message too and then, feeling emotionally drained from worry over Mac and physically drained over the intense work outs he had suffered through this morning, he shut down his laptop, ignoring two unread messages . . .

* * *

1638

Riviera Shopping Plaza

Washington, DC

"One sec, _Gloria," _stressed Catherine to Beth O'Neil as they entered the River Shopping Plaza. "I've got a new email."

Catherine pulled out her cellular phone and began to press the arrow buttons. Beth watched fascinated, playing the perfect part of an older woman who wasn't quite in tune with today's modern technology.

Catherine read the email and then frowned slightly. Harm had sent her a message, presumably excerpting bits from a message Mac had sent him. The Phantom was meeting tonight with Riley? Out in the open, too?

"What's wrong, Moira?" asked Beth, taking the time to jab back at Catherine with her undercover name.

"Read," Catherine commanded quietly, handing Beth the cell phone. Beth read very slowly, puzzlement increasing in her facial expressions.

"The Phantom and Riley are meeting tonight," she breathed. "At the Ciaro Café. Isn't that a bit . . . public?"

Catherine shrugged. "I would have thought so."

"But that's not what's worrying you," Beth said slowly. She stared into Catherine Gayle's eyes, determined to find something in there that Catherine wasn't voicing. For once, the blue walls in her eyes seemed to be decreasing in strength.

"No," Catherine admitted slowly, "it's not." She stared at Beth. "Harm said 'Mac tipped him off'. That means they're still communicating. That's dangerous . . . to the mission. To themselves. I don't understand how after all the things they've done they could do something that . . . stupid." Catherine broke of frustrated. "Harm's not an idiot, nor is Mac. You'd think they wouldn't be the ones who underestimated the power of the Phantom. It's all very well for Mac to sit on her six in NCIS headquarters but Harm's the one risking his life as bait here . . ."

"Mac and Harm know every risk," Beth O'Neil said sighing. "It had to be something important or Mac wouldn't have emailed Harm." Beth stared determinedly into Catherine's eyes. "Mac cares deeply for him . . . she wouldn't want anything to happen to him," Beth broke off, averting Catherine's eyes for a moment. "Just like you wouldn't."

Catherine whirled around. "I do not care for Harm. I mean," she cut off quickly. "I do _care _for him but not in the way you mean. Not in the way Harm cares for Mac."

"And that's what's really bothering you, isn't it?" Beth persisted. "That fact that Harm's worried for Mac and he'll go through any lengths to keep her safe. Just like you would for him . . . only that goes unnoticed."

"Shut up, O'Neil!" Catherine snapped quietly, lowering her voice so no one would know Beth's real name. "I'm not in love with Harm, if that's what you're implying. And I am most certainly not jealous of Mac, so can we just leave things how they are? End of discussion."

Beth shrugged. "Fine then," she replied sourly. "Are you going to call Webb, then?"

"Huh?" asked Catherine, turning around.

"Call Webb," said Beth more slowly. "So you can inform him about the Phantom meeting . . . tonight . . ."

"Yeah, I get it," Catherine said quickly. "But I'm thinking that if Mac emailed the meeting to Harm then she also emailed Webb.

"Besides," Catherine said quickly. "You and I are a team, we don't need backup."

"Catherine, are you sure that's the smart thing to do?" Beth asked, her eyes blazing.

"I'm head here, O'Neil," Catherine snapped. "And don't you forget it. We'll tail Riley to the Ciaro Café and watch his interactions with The Phantom and then if we find enough incriminating evidence, we'll bust them."

"All by ourselves?" Beth asked, wide-eyed.

"Yes," Catherine said quickly. "Which also means that we'll get all the credit for the arresting. And you know what that means," she said with a wink. "Field agents, here we come."

* * *

**_LCSM,_**

_**Don't do anything dangerous. Help's on the way.**_

_**Love,**_

_**CHRJ**_

Mac read the message slowly. _Don't do anything dangerous. Help is on the way. _Surely, Harm couldn't be coming himself. He was probably on a carrier somewhere. And besides, if Riley saw him, he would probably recognize him immediately.

_This also means, _she draw the connection herself_, I can't go either. Even if I am only there to spy._

_**Help's on the way.**_

That's what Harm's message said. Help's on the way. She checked her watch. Little over two hours left until seven o'clock. Most people at NCIS had already gone home, including Riley. Mac had stayed.

What help? Webb? _Some help he'd be._ Who else was in on the CIA team. After all, there was supposed to be people protecting her and Harm. So would he command his team to go to the café . . . if he even knew who they were? She certainly didn't know who was tailing her.

Breathing slowly, she wrote the only two words which came to her mind for Harm. She also decided to drop the initials, Commander Harm Rabb Jr. CHRJ, and LCSM was quite done with now. But, incase Riley wanted to check her email, she'd have to use another code. And so she picked one that was familiar to her

**_Flyboy,_**

_**Be safe.**_

_**Love,**_

_**Ninja Girl**_

Closing her eyes, Mac leaned back in her chair and did something she hadn't done in a long time. She prayed.

**A/N: I know not much happened in this chapter, but this leads up to an action packed next chapter so bear with me and kindly review . . . and remember I now accept ANONYMOUS REVIEWS!**


	15. Ciaro Cafe: Part One

**A/N: Once again, thank you to everyone who reviewed. I would list all your names except the list's getting too long! A special thanks goes out to 'mjag' who told me how to accept anonymous reviews (_hint hint_) and anyone else who continues to read 'Encrypted Legacy'. **

**As promised, here's your first action-filled chapter . . . (and it won't be the last)**

**Ciaro Café: part one**

Riley's left. It's almost six o'clock. I'm practically alone here at NCIS. I have no idea who's tailing Riley. I don't even know if anyone _is _telling Riley, and tonight may be the only chance we'll get to nab the Phantom. And I'm the only one who knows.

I stare at my computer screen, reduced to slapping the keys at any odd moment. I won't deny it, I'm looking for an email from Harm that'll put me at ease. If he knows who's going to tail Riley, fine. _But tell me._

"Ma'am, if it's all right, I'm going to be off," Ms. Lindsey said, coming out of nowhere and making me jump out of my skin.

"Yeah, sure," I said slowly, trying to stop my hammering heart.

Ms. Lindsey turns around and is about one foot out the door when I suddenly stand up and call her back. She turns around and looks at me quizzically, but obeys.

"Um, do you know this place?" I ask kind of nervously. For all I know, the four-foot-something doe-eyed woman could be the Phantom. Yeah right, but I still don't know _for sure. _"My friend asked me to meet her there. "Uh . . . Ciaro Café?"

"Oh, yes!" Ms. Lindsey exclaims good naturedly. "It's really a very popular place. A little ways out of town but the food is good and not too expensive.

"Of course," she says catching my eye, "it'll be very busy tonight. Fridays are usually the worst at the Ciaro Café. But then again, if you want to go public–" she smirks –"then you've got the right place."

_She seems to know a lot . . . even for a secretary._

"Any chance you could give me directions there?" I asked, now starting to feel tense at the look of this woman. She's smiling largely, her teeth are pearly white (I've never noticed that before) and she seems to be drooling slightly, making her look like some sort of rabid animal.

"Sure," she replied. "You'd be coming from the Santa Monica Hotel, right?"

I nod. _Okay, she's definitely not supposed to know that._

"Well, you go down to the end of the road, turn left and . . ." she droned off while she wrote the directions on a piece of paper.

_If she were the Phantom,_ I thought grimly to myself, _then she'd be directing me to her lair. _I shiver at the thought. _Cut it out, Mackenzie, only dragons and villains of lairs._

I stare at the poster board that's plastered to the wall a few feet away. It has a picture of every victim the Phantom's ever killed. _Alright, villain's lairs are not quite out of the picture yet . . ._

". . . and after turning there you'll be at the café," Ms. Lindsey said, dotting the page quickly with her pen. "There you go. Let me know if you have any trouble with the directions."

"No problem," I replied, once again tense. "Thanks."

I watch her leave in her car, making sure she was well out of the way before I surrendered myself to the parking lot, looking for my Corvette.

_I'm sorry, Harm, _I thought to myself as I left the Santa Monica hotel is a very long dark red skirt, my hair tucked under a fashionable black beret and my face made up so I was barely recognizable. _It's not too dangerous . . ._

_

* * *

_

"6:54," Beth O'Neil barked into her two-way radio watch. "I got your six, Roadrunner."

Catherine Gayle paused slightly to readjust her wire . . . or shall we say, _earring _"What was that?" she whispered into her watch.

"_I've got your six," _Beth repeated more firmly. "Pay attention. Elvis has entered the building."

Catherine looked over her shoulder, flinging a long wave of hair out of the way. Beth had insisted that she wear her hair out and she had died it a very low-key red color as a quick hopeful disguise incase Riley or someone _did _recognize her.

_Fat chance of that, though, _Beth thought. _I'll be damned if Cat ever dons red again_

She had worn a much better outfit though. Beth laughed; _I barely even recognize it's me. _Beth wore very baggy overalls under which she had stuffed a pillow to create the overly large stomach impact. She had pinned her hair up underneath a Blue Jays baseball cap and wore white whiskers. All in all she looked like she was in the midst of the vital healthy age of 65.

"My, my, he's _fine," _Beth heard Catherine laugh into the watch. "Are you sure it's him?"

Beth laughed. "Would _you _forget that face if you saw it?"

Riley shuffled away into the crowd that had gathered outside the Ciaro Café. The café itself was small, but they had a large outdoor serving area with rows and rows of little round tables topped with umbrellas, making the whole scene look very Venetian. Though it was only five 'til seven, the sky was already a deep shade of blue and the orange lights of the café danced through the air.

"Cover me," Catherine said quietly, also pushing her way through the crowd, "I'm going in."

"Whatever," Beth said lazily. "Just do it where I can see you–" and then Beth cut off. She was facing something very small, very black, and very lethal. Something otherwise known as a gun.

_

* * *

_

_Wow, Lindsey wasn't kidding when she said this place was packed, _I thought as I squeezed my way through the crowd. _This is a spying nightmare._

I couldn't help that feeling of foreboding that crept over me. Riley was supposed to be here. Supposedly the Phantom was supposed to be here too. And technically I wasn't. And Riley would most certainly recognize me if we bumped heads.

_Which really could be taken very literally seeing as I'll probably bump into a hundred people just trying to get to the bathroom and back. _

I shiver. Harm would kill me if he knew I was here . . . alone. Just like I would kill him if he was in the same position. I couldn't help but gulp back that feeling of attraction. The last thing I needed to be thinking about when I went madly chasing after a serial killer was the guy that would jump in front of a bullet to save me.

I strain my eyes against the thickness of the crowd. _Everyone and their mother are here today._

I made my way through the body of people. No Riley. I managed to reach the bar without having to deck a guy in the face (which really does say something when these drunken guys pass you, flailing their hands in unwanted places) and no Riley. I can't say I didn't deck anyone while making my way to the back of the restaurant (unless a flat-palmed slap doesn't count as a deck) and I couldn't catch sight of Riley.

He truly picked a very good place for his "meeting". You can't hear anyone's private conversation over the noise that the crowd is making, let alone find the people you _want _to be listening to.

I shove a few people out of the way as I try and reach the bathroom. I know Riley won't be in the girls' bathroom, but there's no way I can think in this din.

"Ugh," I grunt, letting slip a disgusting swearword as I push the door to the bathroom closed, successfully blocking out the sound of the crowd.

I turn around. The bathroom's uncommonly clean. The walls are pearly white, just like the rest of the bathroom including color of tiles and the stalls. The room's empty as far as I can tell (_which is surprising because you'd think with all the drinking they were doing out there, they might have to go sometime). _

I exhale a breath and rubbing my eyes with my palm, I push open the stall door to find someone already there.

"They've got Beth," she whispers.

* * *

"What?" I ask, my numb shock steadily being replaced by growing fear. "Who's Beth and . . . what are _you _doing here?" 

Catherine looked taken back for a moment. "Didn't Harm tell you?"

"Was Harm supposed to tell me anything?"

"I'm his girlfriend."

To say I feel like a ton of bricks just catapulted into my stomach is an understatement. The understatement of the century.

"You're his girlfriend?" I ask dryly. "I didn't know he had one."

"Of course he does," Catherine says briskly. "It was crucial that he had one."

"Crucial?" I echo. "To have a girlfriend?"

"Yes," Catherine replied impatiently. "Did you think he would be alone?"

"Well, no," I replied, feeling sick to my stomach, "but not to be rude or anything but . . . when . . . when did this happen?"

"This morning," she replied quickly.

_This morning . . . after I sleeping with me? . . . I didn't mean it that way!_

"Yes, but now he's out on the carrier and I'm here and so was Beth but now she's not," Catherine whimpered. "And I don't now what to do, I don't even know where she _is _and then you came in and . . . you haven't seen her, have you?"

"What are you talking about?" I ask groggily. _Catherine Gayle is Harm's girlfriend. Harm is Catherine's boyfriend. Is this some sort of sick joke? Hasn't Harm learned from my spook experience! _"Who's Beth?"

"Beth!" echoes Catherine rolling her eyes. "Harm's mother!"

_What?_

"And she was radioing me but then she stopped and when I spoke, she didn't pick up. And now I don't know where she is because I don't even know where she was _before _she stopped communication."

"Wait a minute," I say bringing my hands up to stop her. "Harm's mother's here and . . . you were radioing each other?"

"Well, yeah," Catherine said persistently. "How else were we supposed to talk to each other and then Riley came in and . . ."

"Wait!" I cry. "Riley came in and . . . how do you know about him?"

"Harm and Clay filled me in," Catherine snapped. "Anyways, I went off after Riley and that's when Beth stopped communicating."

"Who the hell is Beth?" I explode. "Harm's mother is named Trish!"

"Well, actually, according to recently updated files it's Gloria," Catherine rattled off. "But then again, I'm suppose according to recent files my names is Moira but of course that's beside the point–"

"What the hell, Catherine?" I cried. "I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about. Who's Beth or Gloria or whoever and I still don't understand why you're here!"

"Didn't Harm tell you?" she asked wide-eyed.

"Obviously not," I growl.

"Beth O'Neil and I are undercover, covering Harm's six," Catherine ran through quickly. "Harm emailed us saying that you said that Riley was here with the Phantom so I went in while Beth covered me but now she's missing, Riley's nowhere in sight, and I'm sitting in a bathroom stall talking to _you_."

A moment of silence filled the cubicle. "So . . . you're . . . not really dating Harm?"

_Right, Mackenzie. A CIA agent just dropped off the face of the earth, the prime suspect in your investigation has vanished with a possible serial killer and the more you stand here you're in danger, and you're worried about who's dating Harm . . . I haven't changed at all in the past nine years._

"No," whispered Catherine hurriedly. "Did you think he would just replace you or something?"

"We're not together–" I begin but Catherine cuts us off.

"Oh, save it. I probably know more about your and Harm's past than _you _do," she said. "And besides that, what the hell are we going to do?"

And that's when we hear the screams coming from outside. Catherine and I stare at each other before we run through the door.

The crowd's even more massive than before, and I can hear a woman shrieking in terror. I push my way through, shoving everyone out of the way. A crack like a whip sounds in the air, and now that godforsaken woman is not the only one screaming.

"What's going on!" Catherine cries over the noise of the crowd.

"Gun!" I mouth. There's no point in screaming. I won't be heard.

"Where?" she mouths.

I try and tell her I have no clue but I can't be heard. Screaming in frustration (and not even making a sound) I storm my way into the center of the crowd.

There, in the middle of the café, is a man, not old by the looks of him, with blood fountainining out of his stomach, his head cocked to the side and his eyes rolling. All around him women were screaming and children were crying. I run over to his side.

"Sir!" I holler. "Sir, where did the shooter go?"

He opens his mouth, blood dripping slowly out of his jaws and pointed at the rooftop of the café.

_Oh shit . . ._

_

* * *

_

I clamber up the ladder quickly, my feet slipping on the soaked bars of the ladder. Behind me Catherine struggles to make it up the ladder too. I can already tell the shingled roof is going to be slippery too.

"Ugh!" I grunt as I haul myself onto the slanted roof and drop down to pull Catherine up. I grasp her arm and swing her by my side, my bare knee grazing the tough brick. _Today was NOT the day to wear a skirt._

I hear something crash. I whirl around and through the darkness only slightly illuminated by the café lights below, I can see a figure making their way over the roof.

Catherine laid crumpled on the roof top, unable to catch her breath. She moved her arm swinging it away. "Go," she mouthed to me. "Hurry."

I turned to look at her once, as if to say something, and then realized there wasn't anything I could. I jumped up (hard to do on a slanted roof) and ran forward, realizing at every perilous moment that if I slipped I would most likely break my neck. I could hear footsteps pounding in front of me, and I quickened into a full fledged sprint across the roof.

And then it came, the edge. The edge of the roof loomed forward and I collapsed myself onto the side, clinging to the shingles, afraid my own momentum combined with the angle of the roof side would throw me over.

I strained my eyes against the blackness of night. I couldn't see anyone, and yet I was positive I heard the footsteps . . .

I let my breathing regulate and then slowly got to my feet, my legs wobbling. I took a step backwards, to make for the other side of the roof when two hands grabbed me. I didn't even have time to draw a breath to scream before I was pitched over the edge.

* * *

**Preview of Ciaro Café: part two:**

"_The Phantom will strike in two days . . . and systematically the next target should be Commander Evan Hart," Webb explained. "Be on your watch, Rabb."_

"_Beth's still missing?" Catherine cried. "You've got to find her or dammit I will!"_

"_Webb," Mac said, voice trembling. "I've received a letter from the Phantom."_

"_Harm!" I cried_

"_Mac!" he screamed back, before he was swallowed by darkness . . ._

**

* * *

**

**A/N: Sorry, I couldn't resist with the chapter preview to grasp your attention. Sorry it took me so long to update . . . I've been busy. Anyways, I just have a question for you all. What do you think of that blond Jordan-remake that Harm made off with at the end of 'Fit for Duty'? Was it just me or does this scream 'Renee-all-over-again'? Anyways, please review because I now officially accept ANONYMOUS REVIEWS. **


	16. Ciaro Cafe: Part Two

**A/N: First off I'd really like to dedicate this chapter to: joanoa, GuitarVixen ( or Radiorox, I don't quite know what's going on there), Bite Beccy, alix33, starryeyes10, SpaceMan546, Wendy Kaye, froggy0139, Jackia, Tina Frank, Lyssa Grace, snosamie6, cbw, Nesabj, Arian04, RoleModel2, Tomcat GM, jaka, mara-rabb, Abigaile, mjag, MichelleLee, CharmedAli, princess mai, dansingwolf, martini1988, squirtbug158, jaggurl, Tinny, Elysabeth, hothing40, jagdreamer, and my good friend Steelo (who has yet to write a fanfic!)**

**I'd also like to express my deepest concern on the end of Season 10 of JAG. I mean, what's happening? DJE's leaving the show, is JAG going to continue? And if so, what's going to happen to Harm? I won't say any names, but I got a few reviews saying they believe Harm's going to die and that new guy, Vukovic, (horrible name or what?) is going to take over for him. Can we spell C-A-TA-S-T-R-O-P-H-I-C. This cannot happen! I mean, I may be an idealist, but Harm and Mac _have _to get together, their ending _has _to be perfect.**

**So, for the last part of my extremely long author's note, I want to say . . . this story goes out to JAG, the way it is, always has been, and always should be, come what may. And also, for what I believe will be the perfect ending for Harm and Mac (but that's another chapter so . . . keep reading . . . oh yeah . . . and reviewing).**

_**Nix707**_

**Flashback to Ciaro Café: Part Two**

"_Cover me," Catherine said quietly, pushing her way through the crowd, "I'm going in."_

"_Whatever," Beth said lazily. "Just do it where I can see you–" and then Beth cut off. She was facing something very small, very black, and very lethal. Something otherwise known as a gun._

_

* * *

"__I'm his girlfriend," Catherine Gayle said. _" 

_To say I feel like a ton of bricks just catapulted into my stomach is an understatement. The understatement of the century._

"_You're his girlfriend?" I ask dryly. "I didn't know he had one."_

"_Of course he does," Catherine says briskly. "It was crucial that he had one."_

"_Crucial?" I echo. "To have a girlfriend?"_

"_Yes," Catherine replied impatiently. "Did you think he would be alone?"_

_

* * *

__I let my breathing regulate and then slowly got to my feet, my legs wobbling. I took a step backwards, to make for the other side of the roof when two hands grabbed me. I didn't even have time to draw a breath to scream before I was pitched over the edge.__

* * *

_

**Ciaro Café: Part Two**

"Colonel! Colonel Mackenzie!"

I can hear a voice very distantly calling my name. I squint even though my eyes are closed. My head is hammering, and I feel like my skull has just been cleaved in two. What happened? I can't seem to remember anything . . .

"Colonel! Sarah! Dammit, Mac!"

I wince in pain as I open my eyes and instantly I'm blinded by the color white. White is everywhere. The ceiling, the walls, the big light above me. Hey, the white light . . . connection?

"Sarah."

I hear a gasp of relief and I turn my head, wincing at the throb in my lower temple. Clayton Webb sat beside my bed, his chair drawn up close, a look of mixed emotions painted on his face.

"My God, you're alive," he whispered dryly. His wavy brown hair combed back in what I think is sweat and his usually emotionless eyes are now filled with concern.

"Only to feel like hell," I muttered turning in my bed. "Where . . . where am I?"

"The hospital," he replied quietly. "You fell off a roof, remember?"

I shiver as the memory came back to me. The old man shot, his shooter on the roof, leaving Catherine behind, the shooter . . .

"I didn't fall," I rasped, grimacing at the memory. "I was pushed."

"By . . ." Webb prodded. His pale eyes bore into me. God, I hate the CIA face.

I shook my head, furious at my inability to remember. I tried recalling the memory but I was just faced with a solid blank wall. "I don't know," I said quietly. "It was dark and . . . I didn't get a proper look."

Webb shook his head. "The doctor warned me about this."

"Warned you about what?" I ask, feeling my anger and frustration spiking.

"This," he said pointing at me. "He said you might suffer from temporary loss of memory. Like Harm did after his little crash in the Atlantic. You do remember that, don't you?"

I glare at him. "Yes," I say none too coldly. How the hell does he have so much nerve to call Harm's crash little in front of a Marine that he _knows _could kick his ass at any time she wanted to. "I also remember what an ass you were back then and . . . oh, you haven't changed! . . . Or is that just my bad memory, Webb?"

"Funny, Mackenzie," Webb growled. "But every moment that I spend talking to you is a moment that the Phantom is moving around DC free."

"Well, don't keep him waiting," I said coldly.

Webb fixes his steely eyes on me. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

"Rest assured," I replied sarcastically, tilting my head towards him and feeling the pain as a result of it. "I'll live without you by my side."

"Fine then!" he cried and sprang up out of his chair. "Since you obviously feel that way then why do I even _bother? _Why do I even care? You spend your life chasing after Harmon Rabb Jr. even if it means getting yourself thrown off a roof!"

"Hey, that's not fair!" I cried back in retaliation, and instantly regretted it. My head was still throbbing painfully. "Harm had nothing to do that and besides . . . I was pushed!"

"Whatever you say," Webb growled, getting up and striding across the room to the door. "Look, sorry for caring. I'm out of here."

It takes a moment for it to click that he's leaving . . . and under these circumstances. Don't get me wrong, I'll never do a Webb again and make myself think I'm madly in love with someone when it's just the opposite but after everything that's happen . . . I'd be pretty evil to leave him like this.

"Wait," I said softly, and when his eyes met mine I averted them, making it look as I all of a sudden became very interested in my bed sheets. "I didn't mean what I said . . . or at least," I grinned, "not all of it."

He looks at me through wistful CIA agents eyes. Eyes that have seen too much. Instantly I feel something creeping over me. Dread. I know Webb. I know Webb possibly better than anyone else in this world . . . except perhaps his mother (_sad_) and when someone cracks a joke his eyes dance. He doesn't laugh, he's too CIA to laugh, but the eyes are laughing. And true, most people don't start hanging around for kicks with their old girlfriends but . . . we hardly fit that scenario.

"What's wrong, Webb?" I ask, my voice cracking under the tension. He looks at me with those incredible eyes of his and I feel like I'm a bug under a microscope . . . lower than a bug under a microscope. I'm what the bug under the microscope coughed up.

"Clay?" I whisper softly, his first name feeling strangely familiar on my lips.

He looks up at me and musters a smile. A strained very . . . 'I-know-but-I-won't-tell-you-because-I-can't-stand-to-see-you-get-hurt smile. "Nothing."

"Clay," I say warningly. "I know you . . . what's wrong?" My mind whizzes through the events of last night at an alarming speed. "What is it? Is it Harm? No, he's on the carrier. Is it Catherine? . . . My god, I left her on the roof!"

"Calm down, Sarah," he said quickly, placing a hand on my shoulder. I feel my eyelids grow heavy but I refuse to let them surrender. I lay back in the bed as I feel more than see Webb come back to sit beside me. "Nothing's happened to either of them. They're both safe."

"Beth isn't," I replied groggily, my eyes resting very lightly. "That's what Catherine said . . ." I yawned. "You'll find her, won't you?"

"Yeah," he said calmly, his voice light and silvery like mine, but his not from sleepiness, it's just because he cares. "We'll find her."

"Then . . . what's wrong . . . Webb?" I managed through a fit of yawns, keeping my eyes shut.

He paused a moment, as though hoping I'd fall asleep and then realizing it's useless. "I want to pull you off the case . . ."

"You can't do that!" I manage to fight back even though I'm too tired to even move.

"I can and will . . ." Webb answered. "Believe me, I care about you . . ." he turned back to a one-way glass pain at the back of the room that Mac in her slumberous state hadn't noticed. "We care about you." And Webb could have almost sworn . . . though he couldn't see from this side of the glass . . . that Harm had nodded with him.

* * *

"Webb," I greet as Clay pulls himself inside the room. Gathered in the little coffee/Mac's recovery surveying room is myself (of course), Webb, Catherine, the Admiral, my new rio, Lieutenant Boyer, and a CIA agent that goes by the name of Harris. No first name . . . at least, none that he'll tell us.

"Alright, guys," Webb says in a much louder voice, addressing the group. "I checked with the nurses and they say she's going to be fine. As a security risk we're going to keep her in the CIA recover room for . . ." he flashes a glance at me, "obvious reasons."

"Does anyone know the cause of her fall?" piped up Harris from the corner. Harris is a pretty quiet guy. Except for introductions, he hasn't said a word. Harris is a bit like Webb. Very know-it-all, very shadowy. They've even got the same short, thin, and brown haired type appearance. Only it's quite evident that Harris is a good five years younger. At least.

"She says she was pushed," Webb said wearily. "But . . . we all know what the nurses said." An uncomfortable silence envelopes the room. It was true. The nurses had warned about a slight delusional phase.

"If she says she was pushed, we've got no choice but to believe her," the Admiral said, voicing my opinion. "These are shady circumstances . . . I don't believe Mac could have fallen off that roof. The angle at which she was found . . . if it was self inflicted, she would have had to have dived off the edge. Pushed seems like the only logical solution."

"I was there," Catherine said quickly. "And believe me, there was someone else on the roof with Mac and I. Definitely. I heard her yelling at them as she ran."

"Well then that proves what we already suspected," Webb said calmly. "That they were waiting for us."

A slight silence is taken over before Lt. Boyer breaks it, "you mean they knew we were coming?"

A few eyebrows cock up. _No duh. _

"Either that or everyone just happened to be there at the right place, right time, and everything just happened to work out perfectly for Phantom and Co," Webb said sarcastically.

"Look," Catherine said quickly. "That's a problem, I'm sure, but there's a more pressing one . . ." her eyes flash dangerously blue, "what about Beth?"

Webb sighed. "We'll get searching for O'Neil. If it was the Phantom that took her, then he'll leave us some sort of clue. He's that type of person. Now," he breathed. "Another issue. Our junior agents have managed to wrangle out the fact that the Phantom will strike in two days . . . and systematically the next target should be Commander Evan Hart," Webb explained. "Be on your watch, Rabb."

"Will do," I replied briskly. Much too energetically for the situation, I find.

"And don't worry, sir," Lt. Boyer grinned. "I'll keep him in line for you."

"I've seen the kind of lines you cross," Webb smiled jokingly. "I should be worried."

* * *

"Webb! Webb, open up!"

_What the hell? _Webb opened his eyes and stared into blackness. That little digital clock on his bedside table said 3:47 am. _Lovely. _

"Webb, come on, it's me, now open up!"

"Coming!" Webb hollered and staggered into a house robe before opening a door. Catherine Gayle shot in quickly, slamming the door behind her. She whipped rushed blonde hair out of her face, her eyes wider than usual.

"Catherine?" Webb groaned. "Do you have any idea what time it is?"

Catherine just stared at him. Webb moaned again, "of course you do. No pain like this that you put me through could ever be accidental."

"Webb," she said quietly, but his rambling stopped anyway. "Look, it's Beth, she . . . she spoke to me."

Webb wiped his face, trying to look more alive. "What do you mean . . . she spoke to you?"

"She did, Webb!" Catherine cried. "It was in my dream! She literally came out and spoke to me."

Webb relaxed a little, sinking into his large leather couch and tried to suppress a strangled laugh but to no avail. "Cat, it's early in the morning, we're both tired, we've already got a team out after O'Neil–"

"I thought you'd said they'd have found her by now . . ." Catherine said slowly.

"Well clearly I was mistaken!" Webb cried impatiently. "Look, they'll find–"

"Beth's still missing!" Catherine cried. "You've got to find her or dammit I will!"

She jumped up from the couch and Webb followed her move, grabbing her by the wrist. "Catherine Gayle, I swear if you move another muscle in the direction of that door I will have your ass fired from the CIA faster than you can blink."

She turned to look at Webb, waving messy blond hair in his face. Her eyes blazed blue with intense ferocity mirrored in their walls. But she didn't dare defy him. Webb eased her onto the couch beside him and he leaned back in surprise when she placed her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes.

"Look," Webb said softly. "Tomorrow you and I will personally join the search for Beth. Harm'll be back on the carrier with Boyer so you won't have to worry about his six. In fact," he said, checking his wrist watch, "they should almost be there now . . . Cat? . . . Cat?"

Webb looked down to see one hell of a tired agent sleeping on his chest. Gently, he eased her down to the couch but she clung to his shirt . . . subconsciously or fully aware, he didn't know. Relenting slightly, Webb lifted her up by the waist and delicately placed her sleeping form on his chest. And they slept like that . . . right through the emergency wake up call from CIA headquarters . . . saying two more team members were missing.

* * *

_Waves rocked dangerously underneath the single helicopter as it rocked shakily in the wind. Harmon Rabb, Jr. strained his muscles as his arm's bound against both sides of the helicopter, steadying him as he walked. Behind him Lt. Boyer stayed plastered to her seat, not daring to move._

"_What the hell?" Harm gasped as he neared the cockpit. "You're flying the wrong way! The carrier's to the left!"_

_And that was when the pilot turned around to face him. And Harm knew at once . . . this was no mistake._

"_You!" he spluttered, his eyes suddenly out of focus. "But you're dead!"_

_The pilot didn't move, didn't argue, didn't utter a word, but sat there in the cockpit smiling. And the pilot continued to smile as in one decisive move, they lurched the helicopter to the side pitching Harm over . . . out of the helicopter._

_Only one syllable graced Harm's lips as he fell for god-knows-how long to god-knows-where. "Mac!" he screamed._

_

* * *

_

_And over a thousand miles away Sarah Mackenzie sat straight up in her hospital bed, her forehead glistening with sweat. "Harm!" she cried back. _

_

* * *

_

**A/N: I am so sorry I kept from posting this chapter for so long! Apologies go out to you all . . . have any of you read that TV Guide article about DJE leaving JAG, or rather, being kicked out of JAG? (thanks, Snugglebug, I owe you) If so . . . puhlease tell me your thoughts! I'm dying to know them. Oh yeah, and review . . . please review. Look, I know that this chapter was leaving, but a nice little spin off at the end and a little Webb + Catherine romance . . . nothing to drastic, but those two are just so lonely!**


	17. Captive

**A/N: Hey people, I'm sorry I've been keeping you all waiting for so long for these chapters . . . I've had a hell of a lot to do (believe me!) I just want to say that I'm going to try and send you the next chapter within this week and I'm going to be going away for the next two weeks (can you say Spring Break Holiday any louder?) and would greatly appreciate it if you tell me what happens on JAG for those two Fridays. I'd be eternally grateful.**

**Special thanks to: joanoa, Radiorox, Bite Beccy, alix33, starryeyes10, SpaceMan546, Wendy Kaye, froggy0139, Jackia, Tina Frank, Lyssa Grace, snosamie6, cbw, Nesabj, Arian04, RoleModel2, Tomcat GM, jaka, mara-rabb, Abigaile, mjag, MichelleLee, CharmedAli, princess mai, dansingwolf, martini1988, squirtbug158, jaggurl, Tinny, Elysabeth, hothing40, jagdreamer, Steelo, Sube, rjm-az, and anyone else who reviewed!**

**Alright, back to the story, now where were we? Oh yes, Harm being pitched out of the helicopter . . . (grins evilly, well you'll have to wait a bit longer . . .) Joking . . . joking . . . read, be happy, be merry, and review!**

**Captive**

_Where am I?_

Those words bounced around my skull, reverberating off its seemingly empty walls. I opened my eyes and instantly took in a blurred sight. My head felt fuzzy. I sat up, shakily bending my arms and then swiveled around and puked what I believe was my entire stomach out onto the floor.

"Ugh," I spluttered, spitting out the taste onto the floor. I turned around. The room was empty of people. The walls were grey . . . reflecting my mood perfectly. They were plastered and peeling. There was only one window in this godforsaken room . . . and it shed white light on the small cot that stood on the side.

"Oh," I said slowly, touching my forehead ever so slightly. I felt like my skull has been cleaved in two. _Where am I? _I looked around the room again. There was a door off to the far side. I jiggled the doorknob up and down and then twisted it . . . to no avail. No, I was definitely locked in.

I tried to think back to yesterday. Catherine and I were shopping at the mall . . . we were talking about Harm . . . and then she got the email . . . from Harm . . . the Café . . . and then I remembered.

I struggled to my feet. I needed to get out of here. The gun . . . the person with the gun . . . they were the Phantom. It all suddenly became clear. I was going to be next . . . unless . . .

"Ugh!"

A groan. A groan that I didn't utter. I slowly got to my feet, my legs shaking like jelly. I had to have been drugged. There's no way this could be my normal state. I walk shakily to the door.

"Hello!" I call through the solid wooden door. Another groan came from behind the door. "Hello!"

"Beth?" the voice rasped. I closed my eyes. I knew that voice . . . yet it was so damaged it was almost beyond my recognition. "Beth is that you?"

"Yeah!" I echoed, fear really starting to seep into my veins . . . and then I recognized the voice. "Harm . . . is that you?"

"Yeah," Harm gasped, and I could more feel than hear the pain in his voice. I wanted to reach out to him . . . but one solid wooden door blocked our way. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," I lied through my teeth. Already my throw up was beginning to smell, and it was only two minutes out of the cycle. This was NOT going to be one of the better days . . . "But what about you? Are you hurt?"

"No," he rasped. That voice was killing me. For all I know, he was beat to a pulp beyond recognition and in need of medical help. All I have is an upset stomach and a minor migraine.

"Look, Harm," I said, urgency spreading in my voice. "We have to get out of here . . . The Phantom. The Phantom is−"

"I know," Harm cut me off.

I pause, shrinking myself against the door and laying my head rest on its wooden panels. Before I knew it I felt my body shaking and I was uncontrollably sobbing.

"Hey, hey, it's going to be all right," Harm whispered to me and there was a slow shuffling and I felt more than heard his body press against the other side of the door. "Mac will find us."

"But it'll be too late!" I cried. "Catherine must be going nuts trying to find us . . . and she's probably driving Webb up the wall with her!"

Harm laughed hollowly. "And wherever they took Lieutenant Boyer, they must be regretting it. She put up one hell of a fuss when they dragged her out."

"What are you talking about?" I asked, leaning against the door crack. I could see the outline of Harm's figure through it. "Who's Lieutenant Boyer?"

"My new rio," Harm replied dryly. "She was with me . . . at one point. But when they took me up to shore they took her off somewhere."

"The shore?" I asked and then Harm pressed his face against the door crack and I gasped. He had dark batches of blood tearing down the side of his cheek. His eyes were blood shot and his forehead beaten with black bruises. And that was only his face. I couldn't even imagine what scarred skin lay under his shirt. "Oh my god Harm . . . what happened?"

"Fell out of a helicopter," he grinned insanely for a minute. "Hurt like hell."

"I'll bet," I whispered. "How'd that happen?"

"Was pushed," he replied slowly and when his eyes face me I could tell he was drugged. His pupils were dilated. "Hit the water . . . it was so cold, Beth. I was frozen solid . . . I felt like I was sinking. I thought I was never going to see you again . . ." his voice trailed off. "I was never going to see Mac again."

"It's all right, Harm," I said softly and I wedged a finger through the door crack to meet his.

Harm shook his head violently, teetering as he did so. "No it isn't. I thought of all the things I never got to do . . ." he twisted his head as if trying to dislodge a though. "All the things I never got to say . . . to some people. And I thought I was dying, Beth. I literally saw the white light . . . and then they pulled me out of the water."

"Who pulled you out of the water?" I breathed.

"Them . . . they . . . I don't know," Harm said quickly. "I never got a chance to get a proper look. They threw me in their . . . barge or something. I was shivering, Beth. The wind was cold and the water was a hundred times colder. They kicked me until I rolled onto the other side of the deck. And then the helicopter landed . . . with Boyer inside. She was screaming and thrashing as they hauled her on deck. She might have kept on screaming but then they threatened to shoot me in the head," Harm whispered. "And she quieted after that."

"You mean there was a barge waiting for you?" Beth cried. "But what were you even doing in a helicopter?"

"Mac," Harm's voice cracked. "She got . . . hurt. She was in the hospital." He twisted so he could stare me directly in the eye. "You don't understand, Beth, I _had _to go. She was . . . I love her, Beth."

I felt something stir inside me . . . not something I would have thought I'd feel. Remorse, regret, even jealousy? I twisted to the side so Harm couldn't see me. _No . . . I couldn't be in love with Harm. I couldn't be . . ._

I knew about Mac. From the first time I saw them together when I was being court-martialed right up to when Harm confessed that they weren't speaking. I saw the friction. This was a long time coming. So why had it snuck up so unsuspectingly?

_Because I was experiencing something called lust . . . stupid, idiotic, thoughtless lust . . . over Harmon Rabb, Jr._

_

* * *

_

"They're WHAT!" Webb hollered into the phone. Catherine stood behind him, hair shooting in all which ways and looking possibly more tired than ever, but her bright blue eyes shone with alertness. It was 10:27, they had been sleeping for almost seven hours. And it was rather comfortable, if she didn't say so herself.

"Well, FIND THEM!" Webb roared into the phone and slammed down the receiver so hard that Catherine swore the phone jumped.

"What's wrong?" she whispered ghost-like.

"Rabb and Boyer," Webb said, collapsing on the couch with a look of defeat. His hair too was sticking up and he had the air of someone who woke up at three am by an unwanted visitor . . . though unwanted was hardly an adequate description. "They're missing. Gone. Apparently someone called in to headquarters and said they were sending a different helicopter to pick them up. Like a fool, Jenson, our new intern, gave the okay and they picked Rabb and Boyer up and now . . ." Webb put his head in his hands and sighed, "they've vanished off the face of the earth."

"Oh my god," Catherine whispered. "What are you going to do?"

Webb stared for a minute at her and then leapt to his feet. Striding across the room without even bothering to change out of his clothes from last night, he grabbed his keys and opened the door.

"Wait!" Catherine called, leaping up after him. "Where are you going?"

"Hospital," Webb replied in short form, locking his apartment door after Catherine exited.

"Will Mac be able to help?" Catherine asked. "She was in there the whole night. She won't know anything. How can she help?"

"In more ways than you could imagine," Webb grunted as he and Catherine shuffled into his car.

* * *

"Webb!" Mac cried as Clay and Catherine entered her room quickly. "Where's Harm? What's happened to him?"

Catherine shot Webb a glance. How the hell did this not surprise him?

"A) We don't know," Webb said, settling by Mac's bed, "and b) we believe he was kidnapped."

He spoke slowly, quietly, as if breaking it to her gently would ease the pain that slowly seeped into her heart. It took only minutes before tears welled up in her eyes, but it was obvious to everyone in the room that she would not let them break.

"He fell," she said slowly, and turned away, speaking very gently. "Into the water . . . just like he did in the Atlantic." Her voice cracked.

"What do you mean?" Webb said, his eyes expressing the urgency though his voice remaining soft. Catherine stood by the bed, almost fascinated by the scene unfolding.

"I saw him . . ." Mac's eyes misted over. "I saw him fall . . . into the water. And he was screaming."

"Screaming what?" Webb asked, his voice rising and his face unable to hide his emotion any longer. "What was he screaming, Sarah!"

Mac looked at him, her eyes dazed by the fire in Webb's. "He was screaming my name."

Webb paused and turned to Catherine, the stare he sent her speaking volumes. "Stay here," he whispered hoarsely, standing up and moving towards the door. "Don't let anyone in, don't let anyone out. I'm sending in the G-Force for security."

He moved towards the door but Catherine leapt to block him. Rising slightly, she drew her eyes level with Webb's. "I'm going with you."

Webb stared at her, inclined to push her out of the way and be done with it right then and there . . . but he wouldn't. And not just for her sake. "Catherine, this is dangerous, _get out of the way_."

"No!" she replied with such force her eyes sparked. She stretched both arms out and coiled them on the side of the door, "and I'd like to see you make me."

Mac watched the couple in interest . . . limited interest. After all Harm _was _out there.

Webb slowly reached his hand in his back pocket and pulled out his gun. Drawing it level to him, he let her observe his smooth movements before slowly backing away so that he could fully stretch out the gun. "Get out of the way."

She paused, straining her eyes to meet his. "I'm coming with you. We're a _team."_

Webb stared into her eyes and she met his, glaring ferociously. He slowly lowered the gun. "You're right, we're a team."

Catherine slowly lowered her arms and took a step from the door. That was when Webb sprung. He bolted forward, shoving Catherine to the side. He did it forcefully . . . but not hard enough to hurt her. Dashing down the corridor, Webb ran full force into the elevator, only pausing once to whisper to the guard "Lock Down."

And within moments the CIA Hospital of Langley Virginia was barred. No one in . . . no one out. And Catherine Gayle could only watch from the infirmary window as Webb road off with his gun by his side in a black SUV . . .

* * *

"This is hopeless!" I heard Beth cry in despair. She slammed something down on the floor and I could feel her dragging her feet towards the door. "We've been trying for god knows how many hours and it doesn't work! I'm sorry, Harm, but I'm tired, my fingers are tired, I'm _drugged. _I want to sleep."

"We've almost got it, Beth!" I hollered back, though there was no need. We're only an inch of wood apart. I pressed me eye to the lock and watched as she jiggled it back and forth. "Now move the wire to the left a bit . . ."

"That wire – is – my – fingernail," Beth growled through gritted teeth as she moved her nail a little more to the left. It had taken Harm a while to convince Beth to cut off her nail . . . and even longer to convince her to bite it off seeing as they were lacking on nail clippers.

"And you're doing a magnificent job," Harm replied, his voice dripping with flattery. "But we've got to hurry." He cast a dark look around his prison-like room. "They'll be back at any moment."

"I've almost got it," Beth whispered, cinching her nail along the lock lines. "I've just got to twist it at the top."

There was a crashing down stairs. Harm cocked his head up, his ears straining hard. "They're back," Harm whispered.

"Wait!" Beth called, oblivious to the commotion down stairs. "I've got it!"

She flung the door open at the same time the door in Harm's room flung open. Revealing the Phantom, Beth, and a very shiny gun . . .

* * *

"Ugh, what are we going to do!" Catherine hollered for the millionth time, pulling a pillow to her face to dampen the noise of her shrill pitched scream. "It's been two hours since Webb left and nothing! He hasn't even phoned us on his damn cell phone!"

"Who knows what Webb's doing?" Mac said, comfortingly, but her mind was elsewhere . . . her thoughts trailing along those of a certain pilot. "The only reason he kept you here is because he cares about you."

"Well, why does he have to care so damn much?" hollered Catherine back.

"That's just the way Webb is," Mac said with a sigh. Her head felt so much better today and yet she was confined to the hospital bed the same way Catherine was confined to the hospital. At least she could walk around . . . "He cares about the people he loves and doesn't want to see them get hurt."

"And yet pointing a gun at them, throwing them out of the way, and imprisoning them in a hospital are making sure they're safe!" Catherine laughed sardonically. "Well, I'd hate to see Webb's wild side!"

"Clay doesn't have a wild side," Mac said tiredly. "He's 24/7 Webb Watch. And you should be grateful he cares so much about you that he would point a gun at you, throw you out of the way, and imprison you in a hospital all to see you're safe. That's commitment."

"That's brutality," Catherine replied. "And he cares a lot about you too . . . yet I don't remember seeing him this adamant about your safety even when you _were_ dating him." Catherine sighed, running her hands through her blonde hair. "What happened between the two of you anyway?"

I caught my breath inside of me, bringing my thoughts down to earth. "We broke up."

"Thanks for the details," she replied sarcastically, slumping into one of the chairs beside the window. "If you don't want to talk about it, we don't have to."

"No," I replied calmly, sitting myself up in the bed, "I don't mind. Besides," I checked the clock, "if we're going by Webb Standard Hours, I'd say we have all the time in the world."

Catherine nodded and moved her chair closer to me. "So . . . why did you break up?"

"It was a lot of things," I confessed, sighing slightly. "Me . . . him . . . the both of us. He did something that I could never forgive him for."

"Which was?" Catherine looked at me with her imploring blue eyes.

"He lied to me," I said slowly. "He endangered my life when there was no reason to." I stared at her with equal meaning. "He didn't care about me the way he does for you."

"Webb doesn't care two sticks about me," Catherine scoffed.

I stare at her. How could someone this vigilant be so completely blind? "Has he ever lied to you?"

Catherine stared at me, but her eyebrows furrowed to show she was thinking about it. "No . . ." she replied slowly, voice strong. "I don't think so."

"And seeing as you're stuck here with me when you look reasonably healthy, I would say he's protecting you," I grinned slightly at the slow shock forming on her face. "You're a keeper."

* * *

"Webb," I barked into my cell phone.

"Meet me at eight o'clock," the voice said in a low gravelly tone making my ears strain to hear them.

"Who is this?" I asked, clutching my cell phone to my ear, my eyes taking a frantic search of the area. Harris sat beside me, his eyebrow cocked, waiting for me to give him some sort of sign.

"Petro Gas Station," the voice continued on, ignoring my question. "At the Corner of Sutton and Third. Do you know it?"

I paused for a moment, looking at the ID of the caller. 'Unknown' was all I got for my efforts. "Yeah," I barked a reply, "I know it."

"Be there," the voice said, their low voice taking on a menacing tone.

"Or what?" I brave myself to say.

"Or your lovely girlfriend will be adopting a new shade of make up," the voice said quietly, "blood red."

"I don't have a girlfriend," I stammer, but my mind is reeling. I know who they're talking about.

"Men hardly just spend the night with any old friend or colleague," the voice sneered into the phone. "But I must say, Webb, you've certainly picked yourself a winner. She and Ms. Mackenzie seem to be having a rather in-depth conversation. Gossiping about you would be my guest."

I grip the phone tighter. "How do you know where they are?" I replied, voice shaking.

"They eyes don't lie, Webb," the voice said slowly. "And neither do cameras."

There was a soft click and a little message popped up on my cell phone. '1 Sent File'. I opened up the file, pressing the buttons quickly. I stared as a picture folded out. A bird's eye view of Catherine and Mac . . . talking in the hospital room. It was taken from outside the window, but it was impossible to tell which angle.

"Got it?" the voice whispered in my ear.

I drew the cell phone back to level with me. "I'll be there," I croaked.

**A/N: Hey people! Sorry I've been so long with this next chapter. I'll try and get Chapter 18 out to you by sometime this week. Hopefully within a few days. I hope you liked this chapter. If you did . . . review! And if you didn't, review anyway! I still love constructive criticism. **


	18. Lock Down

**A/N: Hey people. As I mentioned in my previous chapter, I'm going to be going away for Spring Break (I assure you, it's gonna be hot, sunny, and I'll have the time of my life). Anyways, I just couldn't bare the thought of you all sitting here for two weeks with nothing from Encrypted Legacy to read so . . . I'm getting my good friend Steelo to steadily deliver you the chapters I know you're all dying for. That does mean I'm going to be writing like mad for the next four days so . . . reviewing keeps me in the game (hint hint)**

**Thanks to all those who reviewed! I greatly appreciate it. This next chapter goes out to you Steelo, for being the good friend you are! Oh yeah, and for sending me the French homework when I needed it and reminding me to do my math. And . . . wait, I'll stop, I'm babbling now. **

**Oh yes, and if you people could tell me what happens on JAG the next three Fridays, I would be eternally grateful. My email address is in my profile. Hugs out to all of you, especially the ones that tell me what happened on Friday! Please, please, I'm begging you here . . . I suffer from JAG-Overdose and might just have a seizure if I don't know what happen. Include all gory details between Mac and Vukovic . . . I need to loathe him for all he's worth. **

**Oh yeah, and just a little thing. I'd really like to know who you all think is the Phantom (I mean, surely you've got _some _guesses) and the Phantom has already entered our story so . . . again, email me, my address is in my profile!**

**Lock Down**

"Where could Harm go!" I cried in despair for the umpteenth time. For Christ's sake, I'm almost as bad as Catherine. _Almost. _I swear we're both going stir crazy. The last time I felt this helpless was . . . almost never. I'm out of the bed, whatever the doctor said, be damned. If I don't stretch my legs, I'm going to blow.

"I don't know!" Catherine exclaimed back. "Did you see Webb's eyes when you said that he was screaming your name?" Catherine settled on the edge of the bed. "He looked as if he had just seen a ghost."

"He knows something," I agreed. "Something he's not telling us."

I sighed and Catherine did too. If someone walked into our room right now they might have thought they had just entered a morgue. Catherine looks down right depressed and I'm . . . well, not mourning Webb's loss . . . but depressed at lack of information.

"There must be something we've missed," Catherine concluded, after thirty-seconds of weighty silence. "We were at ground zero yesterday. He stayed with all of us at the hospital . . . and he didn't receive any information there. And then he went home – and there was a two hour space before I arrived but even then he didn't get any–"

"You went over to his house last night?" Mac broke out. She cocked her eyebrow up and with difficulty bit back the smile slowly forming on her face but to no avail. Catherine exhaled slowly. There were some things you just didn't tell other people. And this was one of them.

"Nothing happened," Catherine said quickly. We were fighting . . . and then I was about to leave but Webb stopped me. And then . . . I don't know. We were talking and I just fell asleep."

"And when you woke up?" I prod. Harm was right . . . I'm way too nosy for my own good. I gulp as I realize what I just thought. _Harm_. If Webb was right and the Phantom had him then there was a chance I'd never see him again. A good chance, at that.

"When I woke up he was yelling into the phone," Catherine said, with the air of someone straining their memory. "Harm and Boyer had just gone missing . . ." she trailed off and then stared at me. I turned away, my eyes swimming. Harm was missing and if my dream was correct . . . I didn't even want to think about that. "Oh, I'm so sorry, Mac," she whispered, realizing she's upset me. "They'll find Harm."

"And Beth," I replied reassuringly. "Webb'll bring them both back."

"Good," Catherine replied smirking. "Cause I'd hate to think that I'd never get to kick his ass for keeping us in here."

* * *

"Ugh!" I groan as my head collides with the cement. I grimace as I feel blood slowly sliding down my face as I bit back the pain that suddenly enveloped my body. The Phantom pulls my body back from the wall and slams my head to the ground again, sending a fresh new wave of pain coursing through my blood. I have barely enough stamina to even utter a whimper. I can hear shrieking in the background . . . Beth. I fight to try and stand but it's useless. The Phantom just kicks me mercilessly back down to the ground.

"Stop it! Stop! Ugh . . . _get off me_!" shrieked Beth and I squint through swollen eyelids to see Beth wrestling with Riley but he overpowers her and I feel her body slump to ground. I don't even have the energy to roll over to her to see if she's alright. I can't do a thing.

"You made a big mistake," hissed the Phantom in my ear. I don't respond. "All those years ago . . . and now you have to pay."

"I didn't mean to!" I exclaim dryly, blood flowing into my mouth. I spit the blood out on the ground, it tastes terrible. "It was a mistake . . . a drunken mistake . . . I shouldn't have . . . I'm sorry."

"It's a bit late for sorry," the Phantom snarled. "Come, Aaron."

The Phantom stocked out of the room. I turned my head ever so slightly so I could make eye contact with Riley. Surprisingly, Riley looked more like a scared little boy than anything. "Riley," I croaked through a blood caked throat, "please . . . you don't have to do this."

Riley's blue eyes met mine but he averted them quickly. "Oh, but I do," Riley said softly, walking out of the room. "I do."

* * *

"Webb, where are we going?" Harris asked calmly from the back seat of the SUV. I keep my eyes trained on the road and mumble out an answer. Harris pauses slightly, "what was the phone call all about?"

I give him the short form of things. Harris can be a real pain some times. He's useful to have around, but no one I'd want to go have a drink with after work. Harris seems generally interested. "So . . . what's our plan?"

"Our plan," I replied quickly, pulling the car to a stop in the JAG parking lot. "Is that we have no plan."

"Yes, and I follow that," Harris sneered sarcastically. "I'm not crazy, Webb. I'm not going to walk into a gas station in the wee hours of the morning, alone, and in the company of a serial killer. It's not my idea of fun."

"Quit whining, grab a pack, and get your ass moving," Webb barked at Harris as he swung himself out of the SUV. "Take these up to Admiral Chegwidden," he ordered.

"What?" Harris asked, following Webb rather than going in the direction he was supposed to. "Where are you going? What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to run some faces on Interpol," Webb replied calmly. "It won't take long. I expect you back in the parking lot in twenty minutes and no later."

"No, sir," Harris replied in a mock salute, and started off towards the main building. Webb walked briskly over to the other side of the parking lot and had just swung open the main door when he realized he'd left his jacket in the SUV.

_That was close,' _he thought to himself was he swiveled around, sighing as he retraced his steps back to the SUV. If he wasn't mistaken, this time he had the Phantom. But he needed those documents. And they were in his jacket.

Nearing his parking spot, he unlocked the door of the SUV and climbed in, searching for his jacket. It wasn't there. Webb drew back slightly, his face portraying disbelief. _But he had had it in the hospital with him and after that . . . he had left it on the chair . . . in Mac's room . . . with Catherine . . . and the hospital was currently under lock down. _

"Damn!" he swore silently. _If Catherine got her hands on those . . . she could be in a lot of danger very fast._

And of course, to Webb, that was all that mattered.

_

* * *

_

"Hey!" Catherine called, after a moment of nervous pacing. "Webb left his jacket here."

I look over my shoulder at Catherine, boredom clearly etched on my face. "I didn't even notice he was wearing a jacket. He was to busy dodging _you_."

Catherine scoffed but made no other comments. Slowly, her hands snaked along the pockets of it, entwining her nimble fingers in its threads.

"What are you doing?" I ask, suddenly rising up from the bed.

"Nothing," Catherine replied guiltlessly as she roamed through his pockets. She pulled out a thick wallet with at least eight different IDs, a pack of sugar-free gum, pocket money from three different countries, a cover ripped off a magazine. 'Who would have thought Webb read _Vogue,' _Catherine mused silently. This was turning out to be a lot more fun than she had expected it to be.

Flipping over the other side of the jacket, she emptied out his other pocket, though just like the first it held nothing of any interest, other than another ID that swore Webb's name was Steven Culp (A/N: LOL, get it?) and Catherine was just at the end of her fun when she turned over the jacket and noticed something. Something called a hidden pocket.

"Having fun?" I called from the bed and Catherine shrugged as an answer the pointed to the heap of small Webb collectables she had thrown on the floor. I picked up his many IDs and began to flip through them.

"Hey, what's this?" Catherine mused aloud, pulling out a thick brown envelope. Slowly, her fingers roamed around the top, breaking the seal and royally ignoring the bold '**CONFIDENTIAL' **sign properly stamped across the middle.

"Cat, I don't think you should be doing that," I warned softly, but I can feel little prickles of interest slowly creeping down my spine and despite my better judgment, I get off the bed and lean down beside her to take a look.

She pulls out eight sheets of white paper, each looking almost exactly the same. At the top printed in bold letters were names . . . names of all the victims, I noticed. A small picture of the victim was stamped in the middle and all basic information such as height and weight were typed systematically at the bottom. My eyes scanned the sheet of paper. At the bottom of each paper, Webb had circled something in red.

I read the circled section slowly. "The Commander was found stabbed by the dumpsters outside his apartment after returning from a date with his girlfriend."

I turned to the next page's circled section. "The Lieutenant's girlfriend stated that she had left his apartment at approximately one o'clock. The estimated time of killing was between two o'clock and five."

And then the next one. "After a night on the town with his girlfriend, the Commander returned to his house and the next morning was found dead in his bed by his housekeeper."

All the men . . . all were killed after they came back from doing something with their girlfriends. I could feel my head buzzing with thought . . . this was like some horrible horrible nightmare that kept resurfacing.

"Bloody hell," Catherine whispered and I whipped around to see her trying to stuff two sheets of paper back into the envelope. It's futile. I'm in perfect view of her.

"Catherine, what are those?" I ask and make a grab for them, successfully snatching them from her hands. Catherine looks at me with penetrating blue eyes. I've suddenly notice her face under her long blond hair has gone paper white. "What . . .?" I ask scanning the papers and then feel my heart slow to a stop.

On the front side of the paper was Lt. Commander Evan Hart's profile . . . with a giant red X through the middle of it. And on the other side was:

**Name: Harmon Rabb, Jr.**

**Date disappeared: May 17, 2005 **

**Last Seen: in CIA hospital after visiting female partner who had suffered a mild concussion. He then left with rio Amanda Boyer. The two were then seen at the JFK Airport before boarding the helicopter.**

"But they couldn't think . . ?" I trailed off. "They couldn't possibly believe that this . . ." I trail off looking at the names, "this Boyer could be Harm's girlfriend . . . they have no proof."

Catherine stared at me, wisdom etching itself in her features. "I don't believe it's Boyer that they think is Harm's girlfriend." She gives me a pointed glare and I can feel the heat rising up from underneath my skin.

"We're just friends," I argue uselessly. She continues to stare at me but this time it's me that's the first to avert her eyes. I stare at the other sheet of paper tossed flimsily into the envelope.

**Name: Beth O'Neil**

**Date Disappeared: May 16, 2005**

**Last Seen: Ciaro Café, Washington. Said Café is also believed to be a rendezvous for the Phantom and the CIA's lead suspect. **

And written at the bottom of the page, Webb had scrawled something quickly in Russian.

"I couldn't read it," Catherine stated as she saw my eyes scanning the rough hand notes. "But . . ." she trailed off staring at me as I read the text over and over again. "I didn't know you could."

I stare at the text, taking in every word. Cold dread crawled over my body as I confirmed its meaning over and over and over again.

_**Last known partner, woman with blonde hair, blue eyes. Same age. Confirmation at Interpol. Former gfs confirmation.**_

"What does it say?" she whispered to me, her eyes connecting with mine. I relayed the information back to her and watched her features change from suspicion to confusion. "What does that mean?" she asked.

I stared at the paper, doubt forcefully replaced with certainty. "It means," I sighed, "that the Phantom is female."

**A/N: Ooh . . . interesting new twist. Yeah, I guess you didn't see that one coming. And, dansingwolf, it's good for you for noticing the whole Beth-Lesbian thing. I didn't forget, it was just a while coming! Anyways . . . sorry I had to keep this chapter so short. I'm preparing for my big holiday in the sun and trying to get as many chapters as possible out to you. Anyways, I'm going to try and leave a bunch with my friend Steelo and hopefully Steelo can post them! So . . . review, and don't forget to tell me who you think the Phantom is and please please please (I'm begging here) tell me what happens on Friday's ep! **


	19. Identity Check

**A/N: Hey people, well, I definitely had some interesting Phantom suggestions out there! Oh yeah . . . and let me tell you this, no one guessed the same person! Heh heh heh . . . you guys are really something. Anyways . . . don't forget to tell me what happens on Friday! I don't think you quite get JAG in India (or you get it with those little very small white subtitles at the bottom so that I'll have to squint to be able to read anything). Unlike probably most of you I was blessed with a non-JAG appreciative family, unless you count my Dad but he's no good because he's coming with me on vacation!**

**Anyways, major thanks to all those who reviewed me. In other words, thanks to: joanoa, Radiorox, Bite Beccy, alix33, starryeyes10, SpaceMan546, Wendy Kaye, froggy0139, Jackia, Tina Frank, Lyssa Grace, snosamie6, cbw, Nesabj, Arian04, RoleModel2, Tomcat GM, jaka, mara-rabb, Abigaile, mjag, MichelleLee, CharmedAli, princess mai, dansingwolf, martini1988, squirtbug158, jaggurl, Tinny, Elysabeth, hothing40, jagdreamer, Steelo, Sube, rjm-az, cutieronnie, sarah, jtbwriter, smithknk, and anyone else who reviewed!**

**And props to you, Steelo, for posting this chapter while I'm having fun in the sun (okay, I'll stop rubbing it in . . . but it's so damn hard)!**

**Oh yeah, and before I forget, Bite Beccy, Steven Culp is the actor who plays Clayton Webb. Sorry, it was kind of a poor joke and I should have been clearer. Anyways . . . on with the story! **

**Identity Check**

"The Phantom's female!" Catherine cries. Instantly, my head whirls around and I give her a piercing stare that shoves her scream right back down her throat. "Sorry," she whispers guiltily, looking around the walls as if they're all bugged. "I mean, the Phantom's female?"

I nod, turning my head away from her and back to the paper. "Webb has this theory . . ." I trail off. "That everyone the Phantom has effected . . . is meant to be."

"Mean to be?" Catherine asks, her eyebrow shooting up into oblivion. "This isn't exactly some crappy soap opera here, Mac."

"I mean, Beth wasn't kidnapped because she knew something or was a threat to the Phantom's security," I said slowly. "She was on . . . _The List." _I wince as I realize how cliché I just sounded. "The Phantom had planned her out as a target from the beginning." I gulp inwardly. "Just like the Phantom did Harm."

"So the Phantom wasn't going for Commander Evan Hart at all?" Catherine whispered softly as she pulled out Hart's paper, the one with the large red 'X' through it. "The Phantom was going for Harm?"

I sigh inwardly and then groan out loud. "That's what Webb thinks."

"But . . . why?"

"Because . . ." I trail off. "The Phantom's been a billion steps ahead of us through this entire . . . _game. _So why would the Phantom risk it all for a few careless errors. Kidnapping the wrong person . . . getting nervous and taking someone extra. That's not their way. If the Phantom targeted one person . . ." I shudder was I finish the sentence, "they had been plotted out that way."

Catherine looked down at the sheets. "But, Harm doesn't fit the profiles of everyone else. He's not in the same year as them. And Beth . . . she's female for Christ's sake."

"But they do follow the pattern," I replied slowly, lying down on the bed. "If Webb's theory proves correct. And if I'm not mistaken," I added grimly. "Right now he's scanning faces into Interpol."

"Well, thank you for not being cryptic," Catherine replied sarcastically. "What the hell do Beth and Harm have to do with-"

"They were the Phantom's former lovers!" I cried, a sick expression developing maturely on my face. "All of them were . . ." I trail off, staring at the papers. "That's why Webb circled them. All of them were last seen by their girlfriends. When they were murdered, they had just finished doing something with their girlfriends."

I wore a pained expression. "Harm had just come back from seeing me . . . and Beth had just finished shopping at the mall with you–" I cut off as Catherine jumps up to protest but I silence her with a look. "Yes, I know you weren't that way." She sits back down in her chair, her eyes demanding I go on.

"Somehow," I continue, "both of them, at some time must have . . ." I search for the words "crossed paths with the Phantom. And now she's reeking revenge on anyone that's . . . moved on, after they were with her."

Catherine stared at me, wide-eyed. "The sick, twisted, demented, freak . . ."

"And she's in with Riley," I said quickly, effectively cutting Catherine off. "She uses Riley to suck out all the information that NCIS has gathered and uses it to her advantage. She must have been gleeful when she found out Harm and I were coming down."

"Either that," Catherine mused, "or she wasn't planning on taking Harm down because he didn't have a girlfriend . . ." she stopped what she was saying abruptly, but I'd understood all to well.

"He didn't have a girlfriend . . . and then she saw me," I finished. A large lump settled in the back of my throat and no amount of swallowing would make it disappear. I avert my eyes from Catherine, staring at the ground. "I'm the reason he's gone."

Catherine stared at me for the moment, determined eyes flashing. "You may not be the reason he's gone . . ." she trailed off, her voice taking on an excited tone, "but you're going to be the reason he's back." Her eyes sparked electricity. "Now, what are we going to do?"

* * *

My back stuck to the cold cement floor, blood and sweat latching itself on. My eyelids were swollen shut. I couldn't have seen if I wanted too. But I wouldn't have tried if I could. Right now just thinking makes my head hurt. Hell, _everything _hurts. I've given a new meaning to the phrase 'beaten black and blue'. If there was ever to be a color any darker than black, I'd be that too. I hear moving behind me but I make no move to figure out what it was. 

"Harm?"

I know that voice. I metaphysically try and turn on my brain. The voice sounds like sandpaper being rubbed together. Parched, starchy, dehydrated, like every word is a lifeline. But at the same time, the person has managed to convey a tone of caring.

"Uggghhh," I groan incomprehensibly. What word had I tried for? It's no use. I forget. I've been beaten senseless.

"Shh, Harm, it's okay," she cooed in my ear and I can feel rough hands slowly slide themselves under the back of my head and levitate it a little, placing my head on someone's lap. I winced at the pain it had caused by simply _touching _my head, but relaxed slightly as she began to rub my temples, putting me out of my painful misery for a few short moments.

I move my parched lips but no sound came out. Squinting open my eyelids through swollen slits I can make out a blurry figure. One with dark brown hair and a thin wiry body. "Mac . . ?" I ask groggily, my head filled in smoky glaze.

I could feel the figure draw back a little but her hands continued to massage my head. "No, Harm," the voice replied, light, fluent and angelic. I can feel more than hear the hesitance in the voice. The daring. "It's me . . . Beth."

Beth. Beth. I knew that name. _Beth. _Slowly, I reached out my arm towards her, touching the side of her face lightly. I trailed my fingers along her cheek, wincing as I did so. I was positive all my fingers were broken. "Beth . . ." I murmured slowly, my eyelids growing heavy. "Beth."

I could feel myself slipping out of consciousness and also the utter hopelessness of the situation rising up within me. I was powerless . . . weak. I couldn't do anything.

"Harm!" the voice was more urgent. Beth's voice. "Harm, please, stay awake."

_I can't._

"Please, Harm . . . you've got to stay awake. They'll be back soon!"

_I'm sorry, Beth._

"Please, Harm . . ." Beth was sobbing now, "you can't leave me. You can't . . ."

_I don't want to leave._

"Help's on the way!" she cried. "Mac'll find us."

_Mac . . ._

"Please," Beth sobbed. She paused, and I was vaguely aware of the rolling tears that were slowly sliding on to my face. Her tears. "Please," she whispered slowly. "I . . . I love you, Harm."

I groaned as I slipped out of consciousness, detaching myself from the rest of the world

_I love you, Mac._

* * *

"Now what are we going to do?" 

I stared at Catherine. Her words echoed in my mind. _Now what are we going to do? _I slowly rose out of bed, and looked out the window. Below the window were three security cars, one blocking the main entrance, the emergency entrance, and another checking IDs of everyone exiting and entering the building. A small smile crept quietly onto my lips before turning into a full fledged grin.

"What are we going to do?" asked Catherine again, her tone taking on that of uncertainty.

I turned to her with no attempt to hide my grin. "We're going to get the hell out of here."

* * *

"Damn it!" Webb cried, jumping into the driver's seat. Quickly, he slid the black SUV out of the parking lot, swerving as he narrowly missed crashing into the small Toyota parked a slot behind him. 

Slamming on the gas pedal, Webb veered into the highway. Shattering the speed limit, he shifted lanes, passing cars that he deemed to slow.

_If Catherine found the papers . . . and Mac translated them from Russian._

He grimaced. He couldn't even think of the numerous possibilities. And each was as terrible as the next. All involved Mac and Catherine surrounded by guns, or their bodies sprawled on the pavement with the two stabs . . . or in any danger at all. It didn't quite matter. It would be entirely his fault.

Webb twisted the steering-wheel around and pulled into the entrance to the CIA Hospital. Tapping his fingers on the wheel impatiently as he waited in line, he pulled to the front, approaching an officer in a dark uniform.

"Excuse me," Webb called out. "Hello, I'm Special Agent Clayton Webb of the CIA and I ordered this lock down. It's crucial that I get inside to retrieve some documents from–"

"We're going to need some ID," the officer informed him, laying a hand on Webb's chest as Webb tried to pass him.

"Right," Webb breathed. "ID." He turned around to look at the passenger seat where his coat normally would have lay, with his various IDs in its pockets. Normally.

Webb groaned. Catherine and Mac had his IDs.

* * *

"So, which one do you want?" Catherine asked, as she flipped through Webb's IDs. "I don't think either of us will pass off as a guy." 

"And if we do," I said, dumping out another wallet of fake IDs onto the bedspread, "I may just consider shooting myself."

Catherine grinned as she pulled out an ID registered to a Heather Fifer. The small square picture in the corner had been obviously computerized. They had taken Webb's face and brushed it so that the cheeks looked more feminine, the lips fuller, and his hair had been flat out redone. "Webb on the other hand . . ." Catherine trailed and I jumped up to see the picture, swallowing the grin that threatened to permanently attach itself to my face.

"He should seriously consider a sex change," I replied, with no hint of amusement in my voice. "He'd definitely get more dates that way."

Catherine laughed but the humor soon dissipated as the room once more was enveloped in silence.

"Okay," Catherine said briskly. "These are two female IDs with no picture. You can take . . ." she paused as she read the name, "Lidya Vanderpool, and I'll be . . ." she paused again, squinting at the miniscule typing, "Rachel O'Hara."

I took the ID from Catherine and made up the bed to look slept in but not wild. Catherine stuffed everything of Webb's back into his coat pocket and then put the coat on herself. I raised my eyebrow at her action.

"Oh, right, like we're going to leave it behind?" Catherine snapped defensively. She opened the door for me and we both walked out into the hallway.

"Stand up straighter," I ordered Catherine as we marched down the hallway at a brisk pace. "Remember, act like you're CIA."

Catherine paused. "I am CIA," she replied.

"Oh," I said and then smiled at her, "well, then act like you're actually important." She flashes me a mock hurt look. I grin it away.

"Excuse me," the officer in charge of admitting people out of the building said, flashing his junior-officer badge at us. "I'll need to see some ID, please."

"Right," I replied, and dove into my purse, pretending to be utterly distracted while clutching the ID in my fist the entire time. "Here you go," I said, pulling it out while making sure that he caught a glimpse of other objects in my purse. _Just in case. _"Will this do?"

The officer checked it, tapped a few numbers into his blackberry and then shrugged. "You're through." He turned to Catherine. "May I see yours?"

Catherine promptly handed her ID to him. Once again, the officer ran the numbers through his blackberry. "I'm sorry, miss," he said, returning the ID to Catherine. "Your identification has expired, and until you get it reinstated, I'm afraid we can't permit you to exit." At Catherine's horrified look he added, "I'm sorry for your inconvenience."

"Sorry for my inconvenience, my ass," I heard Catherine distinctly mutter. She shuffled away and I watched her. As soon as she was out of the guard's view she turned around and mouthed to me 'Go!'

I opened my mouth to argue with her and then realized what a truly foolish move that would be. I flashed her apologetic look which she returned by mouthing the words 'Hurry up!' I turn around and scramble out of that hospital as fast as I can go. Shooting right by one angry screaming Webb . . .

* * *

"You don't understand, kid!" I cried forcefully at some twenty-year-old hotshot who thinks having a badge means he's god sent. "_I _was the one that called for a lockdown. I just forgot my ID inside the building. If you will escort me in, I would be glad to show you it. I just need to get my jacket-" 

"Sir," replied the officer running his hand through his thick blond hair. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave if you don't-"

"Mr. Webb!"

I turned to look at Officer Jenison running out of the building. I heave a sigh of relief. He knows I called the lock down. If anyone can get me out of this, it damn well is him. "Jenison, tell this young . . ." I look at the kid with an annoyed expression " . . . _thing_, that I called lock down and get me into that damn building!"

"Alright, hold your horses, Webb," Jenison said then turned to the kid. "Anthony, go help Oliver out at the entrance. Agent Webb here has A Class clearance."

I grin at the kid who looks like a befuddled mess knowing that he denied someone with A Class clearance but she shuffled away too quickly for me to rub it in. _Oh well, I have other things to do. More important things._

"Jenison, I have no time to explain, but I need to get into a Colonel Sarah Mackenzie's room," I replied hurriedly. "It's crucial to the case."

Jenison nodded and I rushed through the halls and bang on the elevator button. Too slow. I take the staircase, running two steps at a time. I bang into at least three people, two of which are senior to me, don't bother to apologize, nearly trample a nurse, but finally, I reach the room. Out of breath and panting for my life, I opened the door . . .

To see Catherine Gayle sitting on the bed with legs folded across her chest _wearing my jacket._

"Where's Mac!" I cried, sweat glistening on my forehead.

Catherine shrugged. "Long gone."

**Sorry to cut it off here, guys, but I . . . well, it's hard to explain but in two minutes I've got to go down for some kind of family photo shoot thing. It's incredibly stupid but it's kind of a family tradition to take a picture of family members before they leave on a trip so they can see how much they changed when they get back. It's _really_ idiotic but I have to do it anyway. Okay, review, tell me what happens on JAG and . . . I'll try and get to you the next chapter before I come back. **

**And this one was posted by my good friend Steelo, so . . . thanks loads. And major thanks to anyone who reviews to this chapter (this encourages me to write faster, by the way) and for all those people that read and don't review . . . you have no excuse now because I DO accept anonymous reviews (subtlety is not my strongest point).**


	20. Phantom Unveiled

**A/N: Alright, this is coming at you from the extremely humid, semi-popular Madras City (for those who don't know where that is . . . which is probably most of you, it is a rather deserted city on the edge of India) and I can tell you right now, I've had more bug bites than ever before in my life (53 so far . . . and the mosquitoes still won't let up) **

**Major thanks to all my reviewers. You guys are honestly the greatest. And special thanks to my friend Steelo for posting my – what was it, 19th chapter? – wow, this story is getting long. I appreciate all the Phantom theories that have been posed in front of me . . . most are possible, some are a little . . . out there, but I must say . . . and though this could be my eventual downfall, only one out of my many reviewers, was correct in their guess! Heh heh heh, props to the person who got it right (they know who they are)!**

**Browneyeez: I know you're a die-hard Webbie so an apology goes out to you (and all Webb fans) at my little comment in one of the beginning chapters on his various cheap suits . . . it was a poor shot (but justly made, don't you think?) I'm not exactly the biggest Webb fan (can you tell) . . . oh well, on with the story!**

**Phantom Unveiled **

"You . . . she . . . what?" Webb gasped. I looked at him through pale blue eyes. He looks as if his blood pressure has just soared by a thousand points. I can barely contain a grin . . . barely. "Where is she!" he screamed.

I untangle my legs from the folded position they were in on the bed and stand up slowly, wiping dark blond hair from my eyes. "Long gone," I repeated again, somewhat wearily this time. "We stole a bunch of your Ids from your coat pocket – by the way you shouldn't keep so many in there at a time – and we both pretended to be various forms of you but–" I throw Webb's ID at his face – "you need to update them . . . or get the renewed or whatever. Mine's a little out of date."

I stared at her unbelievably. "Mac's gone . . ?"

Catherine rolled her eyes. "Does it look like she's here?"

"Where'd she go?" he cried pulling me up from the bed with one arm. _Wow, that guy is strong. _The look of worry on his face concerns me . . . especially because Webb is hardly concerned about anything.

"I don't know," I shrug. "Probably Interpol." I stare at him accusingly. "Why didn't you tell us you knew who the Phantom was?"

Webb looked at me, a sneer forming on his lips. "Who says I know who the Phantom is?" But I can see within the mirrored walls of his eyes that he's hiding something. I exhale. Webb's such an idiot. "And what makes you think I do?"

I shove the brown envelope at him and throw myself on the bed while he looks at me incredulously. "Did anyone ever tell you that it's impolite to go through a man's pockets?" he asked me roughly.

"Did anyone ever tell you that it's impolite to sleep with a girl and then imprison her in a hospital the next day?" I asked him, my blue eyes glinting dangerously. I smiled at his stunned expression and pull myself off the bed. "If we move quickly we can catch up with Mac at the Interpol. That'll be about a 30 minute drive," I look at him and catch myself unwillingly drawn to him, "that gives you half an hour to tell me everything you know."

Webb glared at me, sighed, and wrapped his arm around my shoulder and steers me out of the room. I stare at him questioningly. "Just follow my lead," he whispered into my ear as he veered us toward the guard at the entrance. "Excuse me, Clayton Webb of CIA. Me and my wife . . ."

* * *

"Harm?" I whisper urgently, squinting through the suffocating darkness of our cell. I can barely make out the edge of his muscular figure but nonetheless I immediately bent down to mop up the small stream of blood that was once again freely flowing from his temple. I sighed to myself. He had been unconscious for over two hours now. And if he kept on losing the same amount of blood . . .

"No!" I whispered to myself, turning away from Harm and forcing myself not to think about it. This was my mistake, I would get him out of it. Harm wouldn't be here if it weren't for me . . . supposedly. I sighed and found myself wondering how such a thing had happened to Harm. How on earth had he gotten involved with her . . ?

"_I've got your six, Cat," I echoed into the walkie-talkie. I grinned as I watched her fight her way through the crowd, determined to keep her eye on Riley. I couldn't restrain my laughter, however, when I saw one extremely frazzled waiter dump the contents of a half full tequila on the front of her shirt._

"_I wouldn't be laughing if I were you," a cold voice said from behind me. I froze, my grip on the mike suddenly becoming hard as stone. It couldn't be . . . not after . . . but wasn't it . . ? I just couldn't get my thoughts straight. I turned around slowly and faced a pair of eyes that I knew only to well. They were dark, cold, like empty tunnels that never ended. There was no warmth in them, like there had been at the beginning. At least . . . how I thought there was, at the beginning . . ._

"_Long time no see," I whispered slowly, clutching the walkie-talkie behind my back. The owner of the cold eyes smiled, an evil dark hearted smile and I could feel fear gnawing at my heart. That's how much power she had over me._

"_Yes, it has been a frightfully long time, hasn't it?" she went on, gazing at me intently the entire time. "But don't worry . . . we'll make up for that."_

_Fright prickled at my spine. A stare from her shot me straight into her mind. I couldn't imagined what she had planned for me . . . but I knew her. And I knew how much there was to fear of her. And that more than anything scared me senseless._

"_I'm sorry, but I'm a bit busy right now," I said slowly and quietly, motioning to turn away. That was my mistake . . . and I immediately regretted it._

_In one quick move, she shoved a gun to my back and arched it in a way so that anyone passing by couldn't see. She twisted me around effortlessly, and removed the walkie-talkie from my hand, midway through a ranting Catherine going on about a tequila-soaked front. She stared at me coldly._

"_You have time for me," she said quietly, her voice weighted down with hatred. "Or you'll make time."_

_I didn't even feel it when she injected me with a sleeping drug. I was too far gone. . _

* * *

"Excuse me?" I shoved my way through the line at the Interpol's main office. It had taken me forever to persuade a taxi to give me a ride when I had no money. I had promised the driver that I would pay him as soon as I reached Interpol, which thankfully is close to JAG, allowing me to quickly run into my office and grab my purse. It was hell, however, dodging Bud, Harriet, Sturgis, and the Admiral in the hallways. "Excuse me?"

A thirty year old man with a rumpled tie sauntered towards me. "Yeah, lady?" he asked, trying to smooth his tie out when he caught me looking at it. I wrinkled my nose as I smelt alcohol on his breath, but I didn't push it.

"I need to run some information through Interpol," I said quickly. "Really, I'll only take a minute. Probably half that."

The man looked at me and then laughed. "You and the rest of the world need to use Interpol. Take a number, get in line, and wait your turn. Unless you're Government . . ." he said rolling his eyes up and down my body, making me want to knee him in an unwanted place. "You certainly don't _look _Government."

"Oh, but I am," I said quickly and I whip out Webb's fake ID – which has come in way too much use today. If being CIA means cutting lines, no speeding tickets, and disciplining unruly smoking teenagers (which I did on the way over here) then I might want to take it up.

The man surveyed me. "CIA, eh?" He shrugged his shoulders. "You get to move up to the front of the line, but you've still got to wait a while. Unless you have an appointment."

I roll my eyes. There's way too many 'Unlesses'. "Look," I said, my eyes darting forward menacingly. "I don't have an appointment. But this is a nation-wide emergency."

_Okay, a little on the dramatic side, but it gets the point across._

The man shrugged. "Sorry, lady, rules are rules. No appointment, no entrance. Just wait in line with everyone else. We'll get to you in about an hour."

"But I can't wait an hour!" I practically scream. I can feel everyone in the room's eyes on me and it does nothing for my temper. "This is an emergency and you . . ." I whip out my ID again . . . "You, sir, are obstructing a highly-critical CIA mission, and if you don't get out of the way, I must insist –"

"Excuse me, is there a problem here?"

I whirl around to probably face the manager or some sort of high official. I can tell it in his voice. It just rings with authority. I pause long enough to take control of my emotions and my staccato breath. "Yes," I said slowly. "My being here is a matter of governmental emergency and this . . ." I stop, trying to find a description for him " . . . _gentleman" _– I couldn't help but emphasize the word – "is obstructing a CIA operation." I eyed him closely. "Am I to believe that you will handle it?"

The manager breathed. "I'm sorry, Ma'am. Truly. But you will have to wait with the other government officials unless you have an appointment." Both men waited tentatively, as if watching to see if I'd blow. But instead, I was thinking.

_Unless I have an appointment . . ._

"Excuse me, Mr. . . ." I stare at him.

"Bazhir," he barked.

"Excuse me, Mr. Bazhir," I continued calmly. "But is there, perhaps, an appointment for an Agent Webb?"

Mr. Bazhir looked at me through shifty, distrustful eyes but moved towards the computer. Tapping the keys loudly, he nodded. "Yes, an Agent Clayton Webb was booked for nine o'clock this morning." He looked at me. "Isn't Clayton a man's name?"

I nodded. "Yes, that would be my husband's name. I'm Sarah Webb."

He stares at me and I stare back at him with an overwhelming force. _Hey, I COULD have been Sarah Webb . . . except then I came to my senses. _(A/N: sorry, Browneyeez, but you gotta agree that Webb and Mac . . . it's just not right)

"Did my husband arrive?" I asked in that sweet, polite voice.

"No, actually," Mr. Bazhir continued, "he never showed up. Though a young gentleman did come here looking for him."

I paused. "Oh . . ." I replied. "Well, seeing as we did have an appointment – my husband and I – could we – I – possibly have the time now?" I watched Mr. Bazhir and the other guy converse privately for a moment and then Bazhir came forward.

"Right this way, Mrs. Webb," he said and I had to mentally remind myself that I was Mrs. Webb. I kept thinking that any moment now Clay's mother was going to walk into Interpol. I followed Bazhir down a hallway, up two flights of stairs, down another three corridors – _they evidently don't want me here, they're making me walk a marathon! – _and then finally he opened the door and shooed me into a small office. In it was barely more one desk and a computer. But out of the four walls of the room, one was a black screen. The entire wall. And I spied a small gray cord leading from the back of the screen to the computer.

"It's all yours, Mrs. Webb," said Bazhir and then he shut the door.

"Right," I muttered to myself and then began to type. "It's all mine."

* * *

"Alright, Clay," Catherine breathed as she slumped into the car seat beside me, "or should I say _hubby?" _I flash her one of those don't-joke-about-that looks. "What's up?"

I glare at her. "Where should I start?" I sneered. "Should I start with the fact that there's a serial killer on the loose that has kidnapped two – no, _three – _of our agents with only four left on this case: one is god-knows-where, another one I–" I broke off – "left in the JAG parking lot, and the other two are sitting in the middle of _the blasted traffic –" _I motioned with my hand to the window – "meanwhile the three that have gone missing are most likely injured if not dead, even one of my remaining agents was hospitalized because of the Phantom, and I officially HATE TRAFFIC!" I honked my horn like a maniac.

Catherine stared at me, sitting quietly in her seat. I glared at her. "So," she asked rather weakly. "You left someone in the JAG parking lot?"

I groaned, slamming my forehead against the steering wheel. "Ugh!"

But my cry was drowned out by the horn I had just slammed my head against. And on top of it all, my head now hurt. Today just couldn't get any worse . . .

_How very stupid I was to think that . . ._

* * *

"Harm," Beth murmured my name as my eyes flickered open for a brief moment. Her face is very close to mine, barely an inch or so away. Or maybe everything looks closer through swollen eyes. Yes, that's probably it.

"Blgrght," I mumbled, my head swimming. I had tried for 'Beth'. Evidently words were failing me right now. No pun intended.

"Shh," Beth cooed in an almost motherly way. I felt her arms wrap around me and then she dragged me up off the ground and leaned me against the cold cement wall. She smiled. "It's about time you came to."

I grin even though all my face muscles still hurt. "You were worried?"

Beth grinned back – I'm pretty sure, I still couldn't see properly. "Worried? Nah. With you gone I would have gotten your share of the food."

I laughed hollowly. "And you want extra gruel?"

Beth shrugged. "Hey, you take what you can get." She sighed and I moved instinctively closer.

"What's wrong?" I asked gently, feeling her sadness more than actually seeing it on her face or hearing it in her voice.

Beth laughed sardonically. "What's wrong?" she raised her arm and waved it around the room. "What's _right _about this place?" she slumped down beside me. "It's cold, we're hungry, you're . . ." she motioned towards me, "you're beaten half to death, and you ask me what's wrong?"

I shrugged. "Call me naïve, but – " I paused to meet her eyes. "That doesn't seem to be the only thing on your mind."

She sighed, leaned back towards the wall, shutting her eyes for a moment of peace. "We're going to die, Harm." I opened my mouth to argue but she quieted me with a glare. "We _are _going to die. Webb and his team don't know the first place to look." Beth laughed hollowly. "_We _didn't know what was going on and we had all the evidence shoved before our faces!" She groaned and leaned her head against my shoulder. "And it's not so much the dying part that's bothering me – Lord knows I would have left the CIA a long time ago if it did – but now that I think about it, so much has happened in my life. I've kept so many secrets. And now . . ." she moves her eyes up to meet mine. "I'd give anything to tell this . . . _person _. . . how I feel. But given everything that's happened–" I can see the tears in her eyes – "it's impossible."

I sighed longingly with her, Mac's face drifting into my vision. "I know exactly how you feel."

She raised her head from my shoulder, her eyes boring into mine. "Do you _really?"_

Suddenly the air's changed, it's become thicker, more full, and I can feel heat that I've never felt before erupting. "I . . . I _think _so," I managed to stammer. And before I know it, before I even have time to _think, _Beth pressed her body up against mine and her lips are much closer than an inch from mine. There's no space.

For a moment, I'm completely lost. I'm startled, I'm dumfounded, I'm . . . I'm shocked into oblivion. And it took me that full moment to get my brain kicked in. _Wait . . . this is Beth. You can't . . . not with Beth!_

I break my lips away from hers so violently that she's nearly thrown over. I stare at her and she stares at me. Suddenly a very awkward and embarrassing silence envelopes the room.

_God, Mac, _I feel myself thinking, _I miss you so much . . ._

* * *

**Gender: Female **

**Area of Age: 30 – 50**

**Appearance: Unknown**

**Satellite Photo Location: Washington, Detroit, San Francisco, New York**

**Specific Satellite Photo Location: Ciaro Café, Washington**

**Satellite Photo Accompanying Persons: Lyndon Tang, Ray Baron, Nicholas Barret, Jeffrey Young, Harmon Rabb, Jr., Beth O'Neil, Aaron Riley**

**Specific Satellite Photo Accompanying Person(s): Aaron Riley**

**Satellite Photo Time slot: February 4, 2005 – May 18, 2005**

**Specific Satellite Photo Time slot: None**

I paused to collect my wits. So far everything seemed correct. Stalling for a brief moment to read over the profile, I grimly nodded to myself, and willed the mouse towards the key 'Submit'.

Immediately, the large wall-screen zoomed to life. A large block appeared in the center. '114 Possible Suspects'. I groaned and clicked the arrow to go back to the profile. I began to highlight phrases, delete, and then retype. Today was going to be a long day . . .

**Gender: Female **

**Area of Age: 35 – 50**

**Appearance: Unknown**

**Satellite Photo Location: Washington, Detroit, San Francisco, New York**

**Specific Satellite Photo Location: Ciaro Café, Washington**

**Satellite Photo Accompanying Persons: Lyndon Tang, Ray Baron, Nicholas Barret, Jeffrey Young, Harmon Rabb, Jr., Beth O'Neil, Aaron Riley**

**Specific Satellite Photo Accompanying Person(s): Aaron Riley**

**Satellite Photo Time slot: February 4, 2005 – May 18, 2005**

**Specific Satellite Photo Time slot: May 15**

I pressed the 'Submit' button and '64 Possible Suspects' flashed on the screen. There was no way I was going through 64 profiles. I continued to edit the profile and subsequently the numbers of possibilities went down. Sighing slightly, I looked at the last profile, detailed to the very last inch.

**Gender: Female **

**Area of Age: 35 – 45**

**Appearance: thin, blonde hair **(I could only guess because all Harm's girlfriend had blonde hair)

**Satellite Photo Location: Washington, Detroit, San Francisco, New York**

**Specific Satellite Photo Location: Ciaro Café, Washington**

**Satellite Photo Accompanying Persons: Lyndon Tang, Ray Baron, Nicholas Barret, Jeffrey Young, Harmon Rabb, Jr., Beth O'Neil, Aaron Riley**

**Specific Satellite Photo Accompanying Person(s): Aaron Riley**

**Satellite Photo Time slot: February 4, 2005 – May 18, 2005**

**Specific Satellite Photo Time slot: May 15, 19:00 – 20:00**

I pulled the mouse towards the 'Submit' button and the wall-screen flashed '3 possible suspects'. I sighed in relief. Three I could deal with.

Clicking on the screen, I moved the mouse arrow towards the first one. Immediately, a detailed profile zoomed onto the screen with satellite photos arranged at the top as well as the passport photo, driver's license photo, various ID photos. I could only gasp when I saw the picture.

_No . . . _I breathed. _It couldn't be._

"I never expected to find you here."

A cold voice spoke beside me causing me to jump. A small man of slight build walked into the room. He had dark brown hair combed lightly to the side. His glasses were drawn close to his gray eyes and his suit looked like something out of a 'We have everything here at Wal-Mart' commercial.

"I'm sorry?" I said uncertainly as a wave of coldness threatened to overtake me. I could just tell, from the moment he entered the room, I hated this man. "I don't believe I know you."

The man chuckled. "Well, I know _you, _Sarah Mackenzie. Or should I say," he paused, his eyes glinting dangerously at me, "Sarah Webb."

I backed up against the computer desk, facing him with a dark, determined expression. "If you will excuse me, sir, I'm on a matter of Government business, this is extremely confidential and _put that thing away."_

The man swung his gun carelessly in front of me, shutting the door behind him with his foot. He didn't even look away. "I have waited a long time to meet you, Sarah. You don't know how many things I have heard about you. How many times I've heard your name."

I could feel his breath upon my face. That's how close he was. He looked at me, his expression terrifying. "Webb would speak of none other than you. Rabb screams in his sleep about you." My eyes jumped up to his. _Harm. _"Even that idiot Riley seems to show _some_ affection for you."

I quivered as he advanced once more. "Who are you? What the hell do you want?"

The man grinned – insanely. "My name is Agent Harris. You don't know me." He stared at me. "But I'm under proper orders to bring you in. Yes. You'll make a very nice incentive for our friend, Mr. Rabb."

I shot up. "What are you doing with Harm?" I asked none to gently.

"Harm?" Harris grinned. "_Harm. _You sound rather close. He certainly seems to think you are, the way he calls your name at night." Harris brought up his arms in obviously fake gestures. "Mac . . . help me, Mac," Harris moaned, "I love you . . . Mac. Don't leave me!" Harris cackled and I paled before his eyes.

"What are you doing to him?" I asked, white hot with rage. "He . . . he's alive."

"Oh, yes, he's very much alive," said Harris dully. "We wouldn't think of killing him. No, but a fair beating does him nicely, even if it doesn't make him a little more open to our . . . interrogations. You," he hissed, "certainly will."

"We wouldn't think of killing him?" I whispered slowly, vehemently. "Who is we?"

"Me and the Phantom of course!" Harris chorused. "Do keep up, girl. We have no use for stupidity."

Harris grinned and drew his face near mine. "But you are a rather attractive thing. I can see why the others like you." He grinned at me. "It's a shame none of them will be sticking around to – " my fist collided with his jaw and sent him flying into the screen across the room. I pelted for the door but Harris recovered quickly and grabbed my leg before forcing me into the room.

"Stupid move, girl," Harris hissed as he stabbed me with something hard in the arm. I didn't even have to feel the weariness enter my system before I knew I was drugged. I stared at him with bloodshot eyes.

"Sorry to sound cliché," I croaked, "but you won't get away with this." I stared at him vehemently. "They'll find me. Webb will. And then you'll die."

Harris grinned. "If you were going to find us, you would have found us already. The Phantom has everything planned out. Everything. You will see," he whispered in my ear as my eyes grew tired and I could no longer keep them open. "In time you will see . . . your agents have not even begun to experience the likes of the Phantom."

**A/N: Duh duh duh _duh_. Okay, so I didn't quite unveil the Phantom's identity in this chapter, but Mac knows and that's something! Okay, so I bet you didn't expect Harris to be in on it. I bet you didn't even remember Harris existed. I've planned him for a while, but when I sat down to write, I couldn't remember his name. How's that for writer's motivation, eh? Ah well, you guys know the drill . . . please review. Great hugs out to all of you who do. And as I pleaded in the chapter before, please please _please _tell me what happened on JAG on Friday? What happened with Vukovic? God, I hate that guy. Include all the gruesome details. More hate towards him the better!**


	21. With a Simple Phone Call

**A/N: Hey people, I'm back from India! Now I'll be able to deliver you more chapters in less time. I hope you guys all had a great Spring Break. I sure did! Now, of course, I'm swamped with homework. I think I'll play it sick on Tuesday so I can catch up on homework (lol, Steelo, by the way, have you done the Macleans?) **

**Great thanks to: joanoa, Radiorox, Bite Beccy, alix33, starryeyes10, SpaceMan546, Wendy Kaye, froggy0139, Jackia, Tina Frank, Lyssa Grace, snosamie6, cbw, Nesabj, Arian04, RoleModel2, Tomcat GM, jaka, mara-rabb, Abigaile, mjag, MichelleLee, CharmedAli, princess mai, dansingwolf, martini1988, squirtbug158, jaggurl, Tinny, Elysabeth, hothing40, jagdreamer, Steelo, Sube, rjm-az, cutieronnie, sarah, jtbwriter, smithknk, browneyeez, and anyone else who reviewed! You guys are the greatest.**

**Note: this chapter will start off at Riley's point of view. Do not be alarmed. I'm just shaking it up a little.**

**With One Simple Phone Call**

_How had everything gone so completely wrong? That question reverberated in my skull, pounding in a fruitless search for an answer that would not come. I knew the answer, but I winced as I attempted to relive it. When had it began? Only four days ago – if you could say that. Only four days ago . . ._

**_Flashback to Four Days ago . . ._**

_Rrriiiiinnnngg._

_My eyes opened – reluctantly – but they opened anyway. I sat up in my bed and wiped my eyes with my hand, blinking back sleep. I leaned over my bed to my side table and checked my alarm clock. Two am. I had at least a good four hours of sleep left before it went off. So what had awoken me?_

_Rrriiiiinnnngg._

_Ah yes . . . the phone. I leaned over and picked up my cordless phone and pulled it to my ear. "Hello?" I whispered, fatigue weighing down my voice._

"_Hello." _

_That voice. I tried to recognize it – but couldn't. I was sure I'd never heard it before. But there was something about it – and eerie coldness that I could not place. The voice shot straight through to my heart, almost paralyzing my body with fear. This was not a normal voice._

"_Excuse me, but – who are you?"_

"_Me?" the voice laughed – a cold, icy laugh. "I'm about to become your best friend."_

_The words chilled me. "I'm sorry, but do I know you or not? If you've noticed, it's not exactly a popular hour to be up."_

_Damn my politeness, I thought bitterly. I should just slam down the receiver. But there was something in that voice that prevented me from doing so. Something in that voice . . ._

"_I assume you are the Agent working on the Phantom case?"_

_My heart stopped. No one was supposed to know that – no one. Not unless they were in the loop. No one outside the loop knew. It was critical._

"_Who ARE you?"_

"_I'm your friend."_

"_You're no friend of mine. I don't know you."_

"_Oh, distrusting soul, your life shall lead down unpleasant roads if you have no faith."_

"_Is there a point to this conversation?"_

"_Are you the agent working on the Phantom case?"_

"_What Phantom case?"_

"_Do not play fool with me."_

"_Then I suggest YOU stop playing with ME."_

_There was a pause at the other end of the line, followed by a cold laugh. "You don't give up, do you?" He stopped, as though waiting for me to say something but my mouth remained shut. The voice sighed. "I have some information for you."_

"_Is that so?"_

"_Yes."_

"_Than I suggest you and I meet at my office headquarters as soon as possible. I presume you know where I work."_

"_Undoubtedly."_

"_Then perhaps we can leave this conversation to a suitable hour?"_

"_If you insist."_

"_Would you come down to the building this afternoon?"_

"_No."_

_I paused. "No?"_

"_No," the voice repeated, more firm this time. "That's not the way I work, Mr. Riley."_

_I clucked my tongue impatiently. "Then how DO you work?"_

"_I do not work with other people around – other people who watch and listen. I will need to meet with you in private."_

"_I'm sorry, I don't take tips off the record."_

"_It's non-negotiable."_

"_Then I'm afraid I'm not interested."_

_A cold chuckle met my last comment. "You're not interested?" I could only breathe. "I don't think you're quite in a position to be **un**interested, Mr. Riley. This could solve your case right now, as easy as 1 – 2 – 3."_

"_1 – 2 – 3, eh?"_

"_1 – 2 – 3. A – B – C, whatever you prefer."_

"_When do we meet?"_

"_We don't meet."_

"_We don't meet?"_

"_Not physically. We will be at the same place, the same time, we will speak. But we won't meet."_

"_How's that supposed to work?"_

_A dark laugh. "You're an agent. You tell me."_

_I sighed impatiently. "What day?"_

"_Today."_

"_When?"_

"_You'll find out – soon enough. All in good time."_

"_And how will I . . . find out?"_

"_A message will be sent to your office. Be expecting it."_

"_I see."_

"_Bring no one with you. There will be severe consequences if you disobey me."_

"_Yeah, and what exactly will happen?"_

"_You don't want to know that, Agent Riley."_

"_Un-hunh."_

_There was a pause at the other end of the phone. "Tell me, are you familiar with A Caesar Box?"_

"_Uh, yeah, I think my grandmother has one in her glass cabinet –"_

"_No, not a cedar box. A CAESAR box."_

_I paused, running the name through my mind. "No, I don't believe I am."_

"_Get familiar with it."_

_CLICK. The line disconnected. _

_I slammed down the receiver and lay back in bed. That was the most bewildering telephone conversation I had possibly ever had – including all those crank calls from who turned out to be the Fargarson boy next door. I closed my eyes but when it became apparent several hours later that sleep wasn't going to come to me I dragged myself up to my computer and looked up a 'CAESAR BOX'. _

**_That was how it had all started . . . with one simple phone call. With one simple phone call my life changed – a dramatic turn for the worse. Ciaro Café._**

_That's what the Caesar box said. Ciaro Café. 7 o'clock. It couldn't have been more direct. I left work with my heart hammering in my chest. Sarah Mackenzie. How close had she come to the truth? Unbelievably close. But I couldn't let her know. I couldn't let her carry the burden too. If there was danger, I wouldn't let her anywhere near it. What made me feel so utterly attracted to her? I didn't know. But Rabb would take care of her. That I was sure of. What was going on between them anyway? Love – maybe. Lust – most definitely._

_I entered my apartment, took a long hot shower and dressed quickly and casually. How would I know this person when I was there? Was THIS the Phantom? If so, should I have told someone?_

_**And then everything went horribly wrong. So terribly wrong. **_

"_Aaron Riley?"_

_I whirled around. There was an impossibly large crowd gathered outside the café. Impossibly large. I was being shoved from side to side, front to front, in any direction the crowd pleased. The chatter was deafening, yet I distinctly heard the voice speak to me._

"_Where are you?" I called._

_There was an immediate harsh reply. "Keep your voice down, I can hear you."_

_I lowered my voice obediently. "Where are you?"_

"_Somewhere I can see you."_

_I sighed. "So, what is this important information you must relay to me?"_

"_Do you want a drink?"_

"_What?"_

_A cluck of impatience. "I said do you want a drink?"_

"_No!" I felt my patience ebbing away. "Let's just get on with it!"_

_A sigh. "Fine then. It is correct that so far there have been six victims."_

"_Yes."_

"_The Sixth was only days ago."_

"_Yes."_

"_All were in the Navy."_

"_Yes."_

"_In the same year."_

"_Yes."_

"_And all bodies were found not hours after being with their girlfriends or wives?"_

_A pause on my end. "What?"_

"_I asked if all bodies were found – "_

"_I heard you, I heard you," I snapped. My mind whirled back to the case files. A sudden realization took hold of me like a gripping force. It was impossible. It had to be! The same year – maybe. But all with other women? That was insane. I drifted back to the files, my memory taking on a life of its own. The knowledge sunk in slowly, as though refusing to believe itself. He was right . . ._

"_What does that have to do with anything?" I asked._

"_That's what you should find out," the voice told me, its tone persistent. "Who would want to reap revenge on Navy men with other women?"_

_The question burned itself at the back of my mind. Who would gain from their deaths? A psycho. That's who. If the Phantom was searching for only men with other women. What motivation was that for murder? I bit my lower lip. The top reasons for murder – money – but that didn't seem right. Power – but this wasn't a power struggle. There would have been a name, a picture, some sort of game._

_But maybe it was a game. Some sort of sick, murderous game that was only intended to string unsuspecting agents along. I sighed. It was a possibility but I highly doubted it. What were the next motives? Love, revenge. Those were powerful ones. Love – all the victims were killed after dates with their girlfriends or wives. Revenge – revenge was . . . jealousy? But who would be jealous? Why would they be jealous of the men?_

_**If** they were jealous of the men, I corrected myself. If they were jealous of the women then . . . would the Phantom be female? The sudden though surged through my mind. The Phantom – female! It was a startling thought – one I should have considered a long time ago. _

"_The Phantom," I whispered excitedly, "it's female, right?"_

_There was a long pause, followed by a stony wall of science. I repeated the question again, more loudly this time, and firmly. I strongly believed in the notion._

_But again there was no reply. My nerves felt tingly, as though were something about to happen. And then – all of a sudden – the voice spoke again. But – if possible – it was darker this time. "You have deceived me."_

_It was a simple sentence but the menacing tones could have calmed no one. The voice was a mere hiss – almost snakelike. Only a fool wouldn't be afraid. Hell, the fool would probably scared stiff and just wouldn't know it._

"_I deceived you?" I stuttered, almost incomprehensibly. "I don't understand."_

_The voice wrung with hate. "But I do."_

_And then everything went completely black . . ._

_**And when I awoke – I knew instantly – it was the beginning of the end . . .**_

_My head hurt terribly. I winced at the pain as I ran my hand through my hair. Such a simple gesture – unbearable pain. What had happened? I must have been hit on the head. That was the only solution. I could remember only very vaguely what had happened. There was something about a man dying – but he didn't die. I realized that later. It was just a very good actor paid high price to fake dying in the public. And then I could vaguely see the outline of the café's roof. I had been carried up there – by a man. The voice. I knew it, though I never heard the man speak. And then – I could only watch helplessly from a corner of the roof – when he pushed her. I don't know how I knew it was her. But I was dead certain I saw Sarah Mackenzie fall and then – I woke up._

_The man walked into the room. He was short – shorter than perhaps me. And he had dark hair, even darker eyes, and a smug expression graced his wooden features. "Ah, you're awake."_

_I knew instantly, from the first sound he uttered that he was undoubtedly The Voice. There was no question about it. And this – more than anything – made me feel more terrified. I was in some sort of cell – a clay cell. Concrete. No window, one door, bare furnishing. To me it was hell. _

"_They've deceived you, Riley," the man spoke confidently. "The woman has, Rabb too. They've all been keeping you in the dark. They don't want you to know about the Phantom."_

_The words resounded with disbelief in my mind. It couldn't be. Even I was not as stupid as to believe that. I stared at him with distrust. "That's crap. Why would they put me in lead of the investigation in NCIS if they didn't want me to know? We were on the verge of cracking the case."_

_The man snorted. "When was the last time you received a tip from the CIA? From Webb?" He grinned as I furrowed my brow in thought. It **had** been a long time. "And on the verge of cracking the case? You were no where close, we both know that! The CIA knows, Webb knows. Webb sent Mackenzie and Rabb just to monitor your behavior."_

"_No," I replied in defiance. "That doesn't make any sense. Why would Webb, who heads the investigation, want to prevent someone from solving it?"_

"_Don't you see!" the man cried. "**Webb** is the one behind the murders. He **invented **the Phantom as a cover up. He headed the investigation so he could cripple it from the beginning. Rabb and Mackenzie were with him from the very beginning. They're all good friends, remember?"_

_I remembered. But still . . . the whole idea was farfetched. Yet . . . we really hadn't received any proper news from the CIA in a long time. And Rabb and Sarah's visit was suspicious – though he couldn't say he'd thought of it before. They stayed less than two days. And they didn't really **do **much. _

"_Well then what are **you **doing?" I asked. "Why are you here? Why am I here? How are you involved in this?"_

"_I," he said slowly. "Am a CIA agent too, but I caught on to the plan very quickly. That was why Webb deserted me in the case. He knew I was getting close to the truth. But I believe you, Riley, and I have the power to stop him. We can't let Webb get away with any more."_

"_But the Phantom killed Webb's father!" I cried. "Why the hell would Webb do that?"_

"_Don't' you see?" he hollered. "He inherited all his father's old cases. He moved up in ranks because of the cases he got to cover after that. He inherited the family fortune. What didn't he profit of his father's death?"_

"_So what?" I fought back. "He just became some death obsessed freak after that?"_

"_Call it what you will, but Webb must be stopped," the man spoke slowly. "His father was his first killing. He had not even intended the existing of the Phantom. And then he realized what all he could profit from deaths. If he solved the murder then not only would he be granted more than enough money for him to never work another day for the rest of his life, but he would be given a great amount of credit and would go down as one of the CIA's best operative if not **the **best operative."_

"_So Webb's just stringing everyone along?" I asked in wide-eyes. It was all beginning to make sense. "He's an awful good actor."_

"_Trained liars usually are," the man agreed. "And Webb's put on a frightfully good show, but now, I do believe, it's time for his act to come to an end." He stared at me through dark eyes. "And there won't be a call for encores."_

_I nodded. "What do you want me to do?"_

"_Rabb and another Webb associate, O'Neil, we've captured them. You and our substitute Phantom are going to . . . ahem . . . interrogate them. We need to know what they know. We need to see how we can get to Webb."_

_I paused. "What do you mean by our substitute Phantom?"_

"_Well," the man explained. "We're not quite sure if Rabb and O'Neil are being played by Webb or if they're in on the plan. It's best to string them along with a Phantom of our own before we know the capacity of their knowledge."_

_I nodded along. "When shall I meet your phantom?"_

"_Right now," a voice said behind me. I turned around._

"_You!" I cried. "You're in on this!"_

"_From the very beginning," she said smoothly, her voice like silk. "I've been helping you all along. Without your knowledge."_

_I nodded dumbly. The mission was now clearer than it had ever been before. Destroy Webb. Down with Rabb. They must be stopped. They must be gone. They must die._

_Smirking inwardly, Harris admired the wild gleam he had put in Riley's eye. Harris had been right. Riley was the perfect idiot to pick. He was going to tear up Webb's own empire, under the illusion he was the bad guy. It was almost too perfect. Almost. There was only one thing left in his plan._

_It had yet to succeed._

**A/N: Whoa, I wrote the whole chapter in Riley's POV. I didn't mean to, I guess it just happened. Um, well, review, as always. Hope you enjoyed, and I'll try to get back to you as quickly as possible on the next chapter. **


	22. Time Race

**A/N: Hey people, this is the chapter you've all been waiting for! Mac and Harm are officially reunited. Yes, they are, and . . . well, you just have to read on. Sorry if the last chapter was sucky. I hope this one makes up for it. You guys all get to find out who the Phantom is! I'm also especially happy because Vukovic (or Vic as Jennifer should call him) is TAD in Iraq (for those who didn't watch last night's ep)! Yay! **

**Special thanks to all reviewers: joanoa, Radiorox, Bite Beccy, alix33, starryeyes10, SpaceMan546, Wendy Kaye, froggy0139, Jackia, Tina Frank, Lyssa Grace, snosamie6, cbw, Nesabj, Arian04, RoleModel2, Tomcat GM, jaka, mara-rabb, Abigaile, mjag, MichelleLee, CharmedAli, princess mai, dansingwolf, martini1988, squirtbug158, jaggurl, Tinny, Elysabeth, hothing40, jagdreamer, Steelo, Sube, rjm-az, cutieronnie, sarah, jtbwriter, smithknk, beyblade, marinejag, Britanny445, and browneyeez. You guys are honestly the greatest. **

**I'm really sorry that I haven't been updating in a while. It was practically impossible when I was in India and now, well, I hope that the chapters come to you quicker. Well, you guys know the deal by now. Read, enjoy (hopefully) and review! And I've gotta thank you guys, because I passed 200 reviews (that's been my goal since I passed 100) and I owe it all to you!**

**Note: This chapter is not in it's usual format due to problems at If there are mistakes - typed or paragraphs are mashed together - they were due to my copy not coming out properly when I uploaded it. I tried to fix it as best as I can. Sorry! **

**Time Race**

"Harm"

The strangled cry cut through my dream as sharp as a knife. I knew that voice. I loved that voice. But I was dreaming. I had to be dreaming. She couldn't be here. She wouldn't be here. She shouldn't be here.

"Oh, Harm!" Mac sighed. I could feel her press her body against mine and oddly enough I didn't feel the pain at all, just the warmness of her skin and her breath playing across my neck. The feeling sent shivers up and down my spine. God, what this woman does to me.

"M-mac," I manage to stutter. Emotions seem to take hold of my body. I'm tormented by the fact that she's joined me in hell and yet ecstatically happy just to be with her. I was convinced I'd never see her again. I run my hand along her arm and feel her goosebumps. I smile to myself. She always seemed to get those around me.

"What - are you doing here?" I strangle out. I still haven't got used to the feeling of my lips. Words fall cold against my breath. I love her - if she wasn't here I'd never get a chance to tell her. This has to be a sign from God. There is no way he could be this cruel.

"Harris," Mac said quietly.

"Harris?" I cock my eyebrow up and wincing as it hits a fresh cut. Harris . . . I know that name . . ._ oh my God_. "Not CIA Harris?" I asked, getting up quickly - too quickly. My legs sway and my head is drowned in dizziness. I feel Mac grabbing onto my body and gently easing me against the wall. I'm grateful.

"Yeah," she said calmly. "I guess he pulled the wool over all of our eyes."

I stare at her - straining my whirling eyes to focus just on her. It's dark - the cell is hideous. She stands out brightly. Her face looks unmarked save the ugly bruise from where she hit her head falling from the roof. Her dark hair falls in long waves across her face and I'm barely aware I'm running my hands through it until I actually see them. Her brown eyes watch me - distantly - and I wonder what she's thinking about. She looks so lost. We all do.

"Harm," she begins, leaning close to me. We're both incredibly aware of the distance between our bodies - it's near to nonexistent. I trail my fingers down her lips, my eyes still following her movement. They just can't stop watching her.

"Harm, Webb and Catherine-" - And then Mac froze in mid sentence. Slowly - sound ringing around the bare desolate cell - there was the rhythmic thud of footsteps. The sound was lost on no one - not even me and I was still hearing the loud ring of bashing metal against the wall in my ears. That was the Phantom's favorite form of beating. And it showed - on my body.

Mac looked back at me to read my expression before standing up. I averted her eyes. She didn't need to see how mortally terrified I was. Beth got to her feet too - and for the first time since I opened my eyes, I realized she was there. I was instantly swamped with guilt - when I saw Mac, I saw no other woman. That little screen was built in from day one. Beth and Mac shared a stare, nodding briefly in what I can only imagine was a silent agreement to protect me. And this - if even possible - made me feel worse.

The footsteps stopped - the last one resounding with a snap. And then there was the familiar jiggle of the lock and the door opened. Aaron Riley stepped through the doorway. He wore dark clothing making his bleached blonde hair stand out vibrantly against his body. His blue eyes were dark - cold. He stepped into the cell and the oddest of smiles crept across his face. A merciless, victorious smile.

"You thought you'd get away with it, didn't you?" he said in a high-pitched voice. "You and Webb? Well you're wrong!" He cackled insanely. "I won't let you get away with it. We won't! You'll stay here until you tell us where Webb is."

I turned to Beth. Her eyes mirrored the same thought mine were. _What the hell?_ I turned to Mac, my eyes meeting with hers for a moment. Oddly enough, she seemed to calmly understand and this more than anything was confusing me. What weren't we getting away with?

Riley turned to Mac. "I never thought you would be involved," he said, almost sadly. "I knew you and Webb had been together but I never thought you still were. You did an awful good impression of being madly in love with Rabb." Riley shot me a pointed stare. "You're all very good actors. But I didn't fall for it! Not for a minute!" He laughed. "And I suppose now you're going to tell me that you don't know what the hell I'm talking about and that you were never in with Webb in the first place!" He cackled. "Well it won't work! I'm smarter than that."

"Like hell you are," I muttered under my breath.

Riley turned his cold eyes towards me. "I would be very quiet if I were you, Rabb. You don't want me to call her back in here." His eyes glint dangerously. "You know who I mean . . ."

I stare at him defiantly but I feel cold dread seep through my body. He couldn't bring the Phantom in here. Not with Mac in the room - or Beth, I mentally correct myself. I couldn't put them in danger. I couldn't put my Marine in danger.

"What do you want, Riley?" I asked, my voice soft. "You have everything."

Riley stared at me. "I want to know where Webb is, what's your plan, and who's involved." A small smirk graced his features. "And," he said softly. "I want to know before today is up or -" he gracefully snaked his arm around Mac - "she's mine."

I stared at Mac, confusion clearly motioned in my eyes. Riley is standing in front of me with his arm around my Marine's waist and she doesn't even seem perturbed by the motion. He's not armed - he doesn't look it. So why isn't his back flat against the concrete with Mac's elbow making a permanent indent in his stomach? I stare into Mac's chocolate brown eyes. She stares at me back and then a small smile - invisible to everyone but me - graces her lips. And she nods slowly to me. I sigh. _God help me_.

"Give us time," I order slowly, still staring intently at Mac.

Riley smirked. "Time is one thing you're running out of, Commander."

* * *

Webb pulls into the JAG parking lot, slamming the brakes forward causing my head to nearly hit the dashboard. I glare at him but he shelves it as he flips himself out of the SUV. I follow him, wincing at the difficulty seeing as I AM wearing three inch heels but Webb - being Webb - doesn't slow down for a second. 

"What's the big hurry?" I seethed through grinding teeth. "She's not going anywhere."

Webb's either deaf or chooses to ignore me. He pulls open the glass door to Interpol and holds it open long enough to let me in. I can only stare at the massive line developed in the lobby. Who the hell needs to use satellite tracking systems this badly? One woman by my side - wearing a blue printed dress and white pumps - a horrible match - is stroking a cat while she waits. I'll bet you my CIA badge that she's only using the trackers to locate the nearest pet food shop.

"Excuse me!" Webb calls, pulling us to the front of the line. "Hello, I'm Agent Clayton Webb and I had an appointment early this morning. I'm a little late. But it's a Government Emergency. Could you please tell me if a Sarah Mackenzie was in here at all today?"

A slightly disgruntled man surveys us through shifty eyes. His name card says 'Bazhir' on it. Terrible name. "Don't know no Sarah Mackenzie."

I sigh. "Look, Webb, she probably saw the line and decided it wasn't worth waiting."

Webb's relentless. "Excuse me, Mr. . . Bazhir, has a small pretty dark-haired lady used Interpol at all within the last hour and a half?"

Bazhir shrugged. "Thin?"

"Yeah," Webb sighed.

"Brown eyes?"

"Uh-huh."

"CIA?"

Webb stares at me. I mouthed 'your ID'.

"Yeah."

Bazhir scratched the top of his head. "Came in forty-five minutes ago and left about ten minutes ago - " Webb cursed the traffic - "with some brown-haired chap."

Webb jumps up, eyes alert. "What room?"

"Doesn't matter, you can't go in there," he replied.

"This is a CIA emergency," Webb said, whipping out his badge.

"Yeah, yeah," Bazhir droned. "That was the lady's excuse too, but all she ever did was look at pictures."

"What pictures?" I cut in.

"Who are _you_?"

"Catherine Webb," Clay cut in. "My wife. She's CIA too. Now what room?"

"X27," Bazhir drawled. Webb turns and runs. "Wait!" he called. "You can't go in there! You need-"

"Oh, shut up," I call over my shoulder, running after Webb.

Bazhir sighed and settled into his desk, picking up the telephone receiver. "Hey, Chuck, you still know that lawyer in Cincinnati . . ? Yeah - I want an Agent Clayton Webb brought up on charge of bigamy . . ."

333333333333333333333333333333333333333333333333333

"Come on in," Riley said, opening the door for me and gesturing in a polite manner. I walked in. His room looks almost as bad as our cell did. Concrete floor and walls. No windows. At least his has a bed. But that's pretty much it. His clothes are in a heap in the corner of the floor - if you can call it a heap. He's folded them and stacked them. Even in a cement room he organizes it like the desk in his office. He had to have been raised by his mother.

"Can I sit?" I motioned to the bed.

He nodded.

"So . . ." I trailed. "How long have you been with them?"

Riley avoided my eyes. "With who?"

I sighed. "Harris, the Phantom . . . how long have you been living in this room?"

"Five days," he barked.

I nodded. "Five days, Ciaro Café." I looked at him sympathizing. "Aaron, you don't understand. It's -"

"I understand fine," Riley retorted immediately. "It's you who doesn't understand! Webb's got both of you in his sick hold. He's poisoned your minds - yours and Rabb's. He's the Phantom! Don't you get it? He murdered his father!"

I shook my head. "Webb wouldn't do that. You know he wouldn't."

"He cut my department off from information-"

"Not because he was the Phantom."

"He set us up at Ciaro Café!"

"He wasn't at Ciaro Café."

"Then how come the CIA was there!" he hollered back. "We found Agent O'Neil there! Harris thought _I _had deceived them!"

"Look," I retorted angrily. "Webb didn't call in Agent O'Neil. _I_ called her in. I needed help. I knew the Phantom was going to be at the Café!"

"Because you went through my drawer!"

"Because I thought you were the Phantom."

"Because Webb told you to go through my drawer!"

"No, actually, he said to do exactly the _opposite._"

"Because he didn't want you to figure out the truth."

"Because he didn't want me to be in danger."

"So you admit he cares about you!"

"We're friends."

"He's manipulating you."

"No, _they're_ manipulating you. They're using you to get at Webb! Don't you see, she's the Phantom!"

"She's against the Phantom!"

* * *

"Webb, can we slow down?" Catherine called from behind me as I sprinted down hallway G. When they said X27, they have one hallway for each letter - one after another. And 100 rooms in each hallway. I'm surprised Mac even made it to room X27 in the thirty-five minutes she spent in here. 

I turn and run down another corridor and from the clattering of high-heels on the floor and the under-breath screeches of Catherine - I'd say she's pretty mad at me. "We can't stop!" I called back, gritting my teeth.

"But why not?" she panted.

"Because all Interpol research has a twenty minute save period and sixteen minutes have already gone by!"

* * *

"You don't understand!" I cried. "Harris and the Phantom are using you! They're going to kill us all. Even you when you've worn out your usage. They're planning something big! These murders are child's play!" 

"And how do you know that?" he shot back.

"Because I saw it at Interpol!" I cried. "Harris gets involved with the Phantom case - he gets access to things he never did before - including CIA special ops material. Between Harris and the Phantom - they're making a bomb!"

Riley stares at me. "You're nuts."

* * *

"24 - 25 - 26 - 27, finally!" I call and I fling open the door and nearly hit Catherine in the face. She glares at me but follows me in. She's got her high-heels in her hands - she ditched them at around hallway P. We run in and I barely have time to check my watch. 

"32 seconds left!" I holler.

* * *

"They are!" I cried. "Harris has ordered small doses of strontium. They've been picked and received in different locations." 

"And how do you know this?" he shot back.

"Because one of the locations was Ciaro Café!"

* * *

"How do you access the memory database?" Catherine cried, flinging herself at the keyboard. The wall screen clicked to life. 

"28 seconds."

"Memory database, Webb."

"27 seconds."

"CLAY!"

"Ctrl + Shift + P + 8 + Q."

"What!"

"Special Ops trick. We're in with Interpol."

Catherine grit her teeth, her fingers furiously searching for the keys. "Clay, I don't think it's working . . ."

"24 seconds."

* * *

"Ciaro Café!" Riley echoed. 

"Yes, one of the satellite photos showed Harris exchanging a briefcase with a known mass destruction weapons dealer - Triphon. The Interpol scanner immediately recognized the face - blew it up and scanned the brief case. Strontium. The high level of radioactivity made it glow bright red on the screen."

"Interpol can do that!"

"_No_!" I cried sarcastically. "I'm just making it up."

"But what would they use it for?"

"Strontium is used to make a dirty bomb. Depending on where the bomb is broken, such high levels of radioactivity could make said area uninhabitable for decades if not centuries."

* * *

"We're in!" Catherine cried, voice triumphant. She pressed Enter and immediately the screen clicked to life, displaying a set of micro pictures. 

"Start at number one and we'll work our way up," I ordered. "One of them has to have the Phantom in it."

"How many seconds, Webb?"

"21."

* * *

"Why the hell would they want to make a dirty bomb?" Riley cried. "It makes no sense. Even if they were the Phantom. The Phantom is a serial killer murdering those in the Naval Academy years ago." 

"That's a cover. In each city where the Phantom struck - both strontium and their bomb structure was delivered. They couldn't order the strontium themselves because of consistency - so they had it delivered to each victim. Not knowing what it was the victims would receive the parcel and the high level of radioactivity associated with the package would kill them but the FBI would pick up on that so Harris and the Phantom would stab each victim to make it look as if they died from knife wounds when actually they were already dead."

"But wouldn't the CIA check for radioactivity?" Riley asked, his blue eyes perplexed.

"Tell me, when you scan a stabbed dead body, do you look for radioactivity?" I shot back. Riley didn't say anything. His eyes said it all.

* * *

"Come on," I muttered under my breath as Catherine opened each file and then immediately closed it. Each was photos from various Phantom-hit locations, and the others were face photographs of possible suspects. 

"18 seconds left!"

"15 files to go."

* * *

There was the creak of a door and the snap of footsteps outside in the hall. Riley shot me a terrified look, the creaminess of his skin tone instantly drained to a paper-white ghost color.

* * *

"15 seconds!" I barked. 

"9 files," Catherine countered.

* * *

I moved silently out of the way of the door, unnerved by Riley's sudden fear. He put his finger to his lips and motioned for me to be silent. I wouldn't have it any other way. Suddenly, a very powerful emotion seized me. I wanted to be with Harm - back in the cell. Wherever he was. _Oh, Harm,_ I sighed._ I love you._

* * *

"8 seconds!" I cried, one eye glued to the face of my watch and the other to the wall-screen. 

"Last file!" Catherine cried and pressed enter. Immediately a series of blown-up pictures cover the wall. I feel the color drain out of my face and Catherine could only stare numbly at the picture.

"I don't believe it," I whisper.

* * *

The door to Riley's room swung open and in came the Phantom, her head held eye but her eyes ferocious. She stared at Riley and then at me. "Colonel Mackenzie," she said in a cold icy voice. 

"Ms. Lindsey," I replied slowly.

* * *

"Ms. Lindsey of NCIS?" Catherine echoed incredulously. "Isn't that Riley's assistant?"

* * *

**Nix:** Whoa, that was a long chapter. And I revealed the Phantom's identity. 

**Steelo:** About time, you promised the identity like three chapters ago.

**Nix:** Hey, all good writers take their time delivering. Besides . . . my reviewers probably liked all the suspense and stuff. It built up their anxiety on finding out who the Phantom was. See, they enjoyed it.

**Steelo:** Hey, Nix . . . do you hear what I'm hearing?

**Nix:** No . . . what?

**Steelo:** The torrents of protesting angry shouts from all your reviewers.


	23. Actions of Attraction

**A/N: Well, I'm in a happy mood. Vukovic's gone for good about time I finished this chapter extraordinarily early and though I am slightly dampened by the fact JAG is ending this is where you all go _awwww . . ._ it really is the best thing we could have hoped for don't hate me, whoever's on the opposing side because otherwise Vukovic would have taken over and if there are _any _Vukovic fans out there . . . well, you've lasted through all my other character-bashing chapters so this shouldn't be anything new.**

**Special thanks to joanoa, Radiorox, Bite Beccy, alix33, starryeyes10, SpaceMan546, Wendy Kaye, froggy0139, Jackia, Tina Frank, Lyssa Grace, snosamie6, cbw, Nesabj, Arian04, RoleModel2, Tomcat GM, jaka, mara-rabb, Abigaile, mjag, MichelleLee, CharmedAli, princess mai, dansingwolf, martini1988, squirtbug158, jaggurl, Tinny, Elysabeth, hothing40, jagdreamer, Steelo, Sube, rjm-az, cutieronnie, sarah, jtbwriter, smithknk, beyblade, browneyeez, Lauren, and a very _very _special thank you to mjag who sent me an article on JAG's last episode if any of you want to see it, email me (my address is in my profile) and I'll forward it to you. **

**Salute to you all!**

**Actions of Attraction**

"What do you think is happening?" I asked nervously for what must be the give or take 5 hundredth time in the last fifteen minutes. Beth leaned against the wall and sighed for give or take five what must be the hundredth time in the last fifteen minutes.

"I don't _know, _Harm," she said, evidently exasperated. "Now stop pacing, you're going to hurt yourself."

And she was right. I _was _hurting myself. My back was badly bruised and every time I took a step forward, I could feel it stiffen into a knot. My body hurt terribly – the thought of Riley harming Mac hurt more.

There was the sound of the lock being picked and then the door swung just long enough for Mac to be literally thrown in. I moved to catch her, barely able to contain my groan of agony as my back wrenched forward and I caught her nimbly and movie-style-like in my arms. Our bodies froze there for a moment, her in my arms, my face barely an inch from hers, our breath crawling over each other's faces.

"Hey, you," she whispered softly, her voice inching into my ear and making my heart race a thousand beats per second. She coiled her arm around my neck and eased herself up.

"What happened?" Beth demanded instantly, breaking whatever romantic and fragile moment we had into a thousand pieces. I leaned back against the wall, my arm moving magnetically across my ribs. Mac moved so that her body was next to mine and she wrapped one arm around my back and clasped my shoulder reassuringly, careful not to grip too hard on a tender spot.

"The Phantom's Lindsey," Mac breathed, still looking at me rather than Beth.

"We know," I replied. How _does _she think I got like this?

"And Harris is in with Lindsey," Mac followed.

"We know," was the simultaneous answer from Beth and me.

Mac looked at us crossly. "Well, you probably _don't _know about the bomb."

My ears perk up. "What bomb?" I asked immediately, a rush of other questions flowing through my brain.

"Strontium, used to make a dirty bomb," Mac answered instantly. "Delivered by mail to each crime scene – delivered to all victims who were later slain by the Phantom after . . ." Mac trailed, wondering how she would word this, "after they were already dead."

"Already dead?" Beth questioned but I nodded my head.

"High level of radioactivity," I responded. "Human contact, it could have been . . . disastrous."

"It _was _disastrous," Mac corrected. "But the worst is yet to come."

"The bomb," I breathed and then looked at her hard. "How do you know about all this?" I motioned at the door. "Riley didn't tell you all of this . . ." I trail and then remembered Riley's – ahem – _overly _friendly attitude towards her, ". . . or did he?"

Mac shook her hand and then leaned her head on my shoulder. "Interpol."

I stared at her, eyes laughing. "They let a _JAG _use Interpol?"

She sighed, "Nah, I had to marry Webb first."

_I'm not even going there._

"So what happened with you and Riley?" Beth asked, coming out of her corner and joining us. Damn, she just couldn't take the hint, could she?

"I told Riley about the bomb. He seems to think that Webb's the Phantom or something like that," Mac replied immediately.

"Wait a minute . . .?" I trailed. "You told _Riley _about the bomb! After everything that's happened to us! He's _in _with them!"

"They're _using _him."

"He'll tell them that we know about the bomb!"

"Look," Mac retorted angrily. "Riley's not an idiot. I've put some ideas in his head and he's now going to start wondering. That can only go in our favor. As soon as he starts using his head he's going to realize that we're on the same side."

I remained unconvinced. "Well, what do we do now?"

"What we've been doing for the last four days," Beth retorted, slipping back into her corner. "We wait."

* * *

"They're making a bomb," Webb whispered for nearly the hundredth time. We had managed to save the files from being deleted by loading them onto a back up disc stored in the hard drive by logging into a CIA user (another one of Webb's special passwords) but in the process, we had lost nearly half the disk. Thankfully, the first half was Mac's trial and error side.

"We know they're making a bomb," I shot back, snappishly. Within a matter of minutes, a dispatched NCIS team not Riley's, a bomb squad, the FBI, and the CIA all met in the room to look at what we were dealing with. And as Webb continued to say – _we were running out of time._

"How much strontium is it?" Webb snapped to the bomb squad who were typing in numbers onto the machine, locating the bomb drop-offs at each point, the package weight, and were doing something which resembled – well – rocket science but then again I've never been much of a mathematician.

"Enough to blow up . . . well," the presumed-mathematician furrowed his eyebrows, "well, actually, not a whole lot of space. The total amount of strontium combined with the maximum size bomb would be quite small. However, because of the high level of radioactivity, the area around the broken bomb would be otherwise uninhabitable."

I could see Webb close his eyes and calmly force his mind to say '_Breathe'. _"How big is the blow up area?" he asked in a frighteningly calm voice.

"That's hard to say."

Taking out a blow up map of Washington and Virginia he pinned them on the wall and then handed the man a red marker. "On this map, mark the maximum blow up point," Webb commanded, leaning his back against the desk.

"What good would that do you?"

"It would," Webb said quietly, "give us an idea of the prime target for the location of the bomb based on the area. If it's going to blow up the whole city, we don't quite need to worry about where the bomb comes from as long as the city's evacuated –" Webb shuddered; _hopefully it doesn't come to that, _"but on the other hand, if it's going to blow up a building. Oh, I don't know – maybe we should think about the White House, or the Pentagon," Webb said, his voice on the sarcastic side.

The man stared hard at Webb and then moved towards the map, taking the red marker in his hand, arching his arm, he placed the tiniest of dots in the middle of the map and around it drew the smallest of circles. "The dot is the bomb blow point, the circle around it is area affected."

Both Webb and I narrow our eyes to be able to see the dot. "But that's . . . not that big," I said, walking directly up to the map.

"It wouldn't take down the Twin Towers," the man agreed but then paused thoughtfully, "at least – it wouldn't take them out as cleanly as the planes did."

Webb narrowed his eyes. The take down of the World Trade Center was nothing to be praised. "So, estimated area, it would be an object . . . wider rather than taller?"

"Precisely."

"So it's not a building . . ." I trailed. I looked at Webb, my eyes frantic. As though magnetized his hand drew towards mine and gripped it firmly – reassuringly. I ran my fingers over his, looking up at him and smiling thinly – more for his comfort than my own. These small actions of attraction were lost on no one – not even us.

* * *

At some point in time we fell asleep. I don't know when – no light comes into this damn room. I don't know how Beth and Harm survived here for the last four days. I snuggled up closer on to Harm's chest, careful not to touch his rib cage. I can still tell it hurts – even if he smiles every time he feels the pang of pain.

Harm's soft breathing tickles my ear and so I roll off him, more beside him, and curl up with my face next to his. Beth's still in her corner. Every so often when she's awake, that is I catch her shooting furtive glances at us and I can't figure out why.

_I came so close to losing him. _I look at his face, his skin color only slightly lighter than the dark black of the cell. His hair still hasn't grown back from the marine hair-cut they gave him when he became 'Commander Evan Hart'. To be honest – I think he looks better with his old hair cut not that I've got any problem with the way he looks now I find myself going for the Navy type more and more now a days well, _one _Navy type.

I curled up next to him, my head resting in the crook of his neck – reassured by the steady beat of his heart, small actions of attraction expressed in only the most dire of situations. And we stayed that way – until I heard the racket coming from one room over . . .

* * *

"They're lying to you, Aaron!" Lindsey shouted at me while I sat rather helplessly on my bed, my eyes jumping from Lindsey to Harris, not really sure who to make eye contact with.

"No one's lying to me," I said coldly. "If anyone is deceiving another, it would be _you."_

It had taken Lindsey and Harris no time at all to realize there was one "prisoner" missing and not even a second to realize where she might be.

"What did she _say _to you?" Lindsey pressed, pulling her now deemed ugly face towards mine as if if she looked close enough she might see the truth.

"Nothing!" I cried, and at the same time not sure why I was lying. Maybe because Lindsey and Harris were acting so guilty at the moment – maybe because Sarah Mackenzie made a very compelling argument, but then again, she's a lawyer. That IS her job.

Harris and Lindsey exchange a glance and for a split second, I'm mortally terrified. What are they going to do to me? I suddenly have a vision of joining Rabb and the others in the cell and I start sweating in places I've never sweated before.

Harris shrugged and Lindsey turned to me. "If the Colonel told you something, it's _nothing but _lies. Do you understand me?" I nodded dumbly. She wiped hair out of her eyes. "Good."

She pivoted on her heels and literally stormed out of the room with Harris hot on her heels. I flopped down on my bed and stared up at the cream colored ceiling of this hellhole. And something Sarah Mackenzie said came back to me:

_(flashback to previous chapter)_

"_Because you went through my drawer!" I hollered angrily. _

"_Because I thought you were the Phantom," was Sarah's calm rational reply. _

"_Because Webb told you to go through my drawer!"_

"_No, actually, he said to do exactly the opposite."_

"_Because he didn't want you to figure out the truth!"_

"_Because he didn't want me to be in danger."_

"_So you admit he cares about you!"_

"_We're friends."_

"_He's manipulating you."_

"_No, they're manipulating you. They're using you to get at Webb! Don't you see, she's the Phantom!"_

I sighed, muffling the noise in the middle of my pillow. It had been so easy to believe Lindsey. I felt an internal war erupt within me at the sound of her name. She's been my assistant for – how long was it now? A year – maybe two. My god, is she _that _invisible? I don't remember when she comes and goes.

Now, Webb's always been known as a shrewd character, by any standards. And he running this op just _had_ to mean trouble. But manipulating the entire CIA/JAG/NCIS was a bit of a fantastic idea. Even for a known eccentric.

And then there was Harris who has been, from beginning to end, Lindsey's monkey man. The one who does everything he's told. He didn't have much of a life – not if he lived in this pigpen.

Slamming down my arm on the bed I sat up. Dammit, I was going to do it. I was going to do something extremely stupid. I was going to get caught. Hell, I could even get killed. Tonight I was going to break out

But there really is something funny about running with a fantastic idea that's just gotten caught in your head. That once you've got it in there, there really is no turning back.

Preview of 'Break Out' aka, the next chapter . . .

_Riley's hand wavered slightly as his shadow fell across the keyhole. Slowly, sucking in a deep breath, he turned the key in the slot and entered the cell. He cleared his throat. "Rabb, come with me . . ."_

_Webb ran through the halls, the clatter of Catherine's heels falling behind him at a quick pace. Stopping at the door, he heaved his shoulder against it at the same time Mac on the other side, opened with ease. "Webb!" she cried in a broken voice. "They've already gone."_

_Harm trailed his finger over Mac's lips and then bent down, his mouth capturing hers. It took about a millisecond for her to react. They sat for a moment – silently devouring each other – before Harm broke for air. He kissed the top of her forehead and whispered, "I love you," before he ran off into the night . . ._

**A/N: I know what you're thinking right now, how completely sucky this chapter was. I don't blame you, I'd be upset too. Actually, I AM upset seeing as I did write it but I assure you – this was just one of those necessary things. It's a build up to a really awesome chapter no, I'm not being braggy, I'm just keeping you hooked . . . **


	24. Break Out

**A/N: Hey people! Well, here's your much-anticipated chapter. I hope you all enjoy it. Read, review, you know the drill by now. **

**Special thanks goes out to: joanoa, Radiorox, Bite Beccy, alix33, starryeyes10, SpaceMan546, Wendy Kaye, froggy0139, Jackia, Tina Frank, Lyssa Grace, snosamie6, cbw, Nesabj, Arian04, RoleModel2, Tomcat GM, jaka, mara-rabb, Abigaile, mjag, MichelleLee, CharmedAli, princess mai, dansingwolf, martini1988, squirtbug158, jaggurl, Tinny, Elysabeth, hothing40, jagdreamer, Steelo, Sube, rjm-az, cutieronnie, sarah, jtbwriter, smithknk, beyblade, browneyeez, Lauren, marinejag, jag4eva, and jaglover411. You guys rock!**

**Well, without further ado . . . tada**

**Break Out**

Aaron Riley slowly shot a glance to his left and then to his right down the hallway before stepping out of the darkness of his room. He was dressed in dark black pants and a navy turtleneck – dressed for darkness. Slowly, he grasped the handle of his door and eased it slowly towards him, shutting it noiselessly. He could feel his heart beating wildly within his chest.

Creeping silently down the hall and keeping to the shadows, he approached the second door to his right. Bending down, Riley inched his ear towards the crack separating the door from the ground. Settling for a few moments, Riley confirmed what he already knew. Propping himself up, he opened the door and entered what would be considered a well-lived-in room.

Clothes were strewn all over the floor and blossoming from the hamper in the corner. The bed's sheets were untidily drawn over the mattress while the pillow still had Harris's head imprint in the center. But Riley ignored all of this as he crossed the room to where the oak dresser stood. Riley opened the front set of drawers and burrowed through the pile of socks tied unmatched inside the drawer and then grimacing as he moved Harris's underwear to the side.

Just as he was about to switch to a different drawer, Riley felt his hand touch something cold and metal. Applauding himself slightly, Riley pulled out a Smith and Wesson hand held revolver and underneath it was a newspaper folded into quarters, tucked discretely near the sock area.

Riley didn't have to read the headline to know what article it was. Clipping the revolver to his belt buckle, Riley grabbed the silver key wrung around the peg on the wall and stalked out of the room, not bothering to shut the door behind him.

Approaching the cell, Riley's hand wavered slightly as his shadow fell across the keyhole. Slowly, sucking in a deep breath, he turned the key in the slot and entered the cell.

Opening the door, he entered the darkened room, unsurprised to find Rabb and Sarah curled up together one side and the other woman – Riley didn't know her name – on the other side of the room.

Riley went over to Rabb and slowly shook his shoulder. He watched as Rabb's eyes slowly opened and the emotions on his face changed from confusion to disbelief. Riley cleared his throat, "Rabb, come with me . . ." he trailed.

Rabb got up, quietly entangling himself from the Colonel, laying her head – which had been resting on his chest – onto the floor as gently as he possible could. He walked over to Riley. "What's wrong?"

Riley through the newspaper to him and Harm caught it swiftly. His eyes scanned the paper, but it was impossibly to make out the print in the darkness. Riley pushed Harm into the hallway where he turned on the dim light and watched as the Commander's expression went from curiosity to fear.

"Where are they?" Harm whispered hoarsely, his hands still clinging numbly to the newspaper.

"Gone," Riley replied quickly. "We need to get moving." He moved to walk away but then stopped as he realized Rabb wasn't following him. Riley turned around and saw a deep look of distrust etched in Harm's features. Riley hung his head; he could have only expected this. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "For not believing you, for what I did to you . . ." Riley's eyes pleaded. "I was wrong. They played me like an idiot. But we're on the same side now."

For a minute, it was hard to tell what was going through Harm's mind but then he relented. "Okay," he said softly, "just give me a minute."

Riley nodded in consent, not having the slightest doubt on what Rabb was about to do.

* * *

Harm stood for a minute just looking at Mac. The moonlight fell dimly on her body, kissing her skin and making it look as if she was glowing. _Like an angel, _Harm thought with the air of a hopeless romantic. A slight breeze and a strand of Mac's hair brushed against her face. Mac fidgeted in her dream and tried to brush it off. Harm chuckled softly to himself and found his hand moving magnetically towards her face and curling the defiant strand behind her ear. The moment his hand touched her face fire erupted within himself.

Harm trailed his finger over Mac's lips and then bent down, his mouth capturing hers. And – aware of it or not - it took about a millisecond for her to react. Perhaps she was dreaming about this because she did not open her eyes. They sat for a moment – silently devouring each other – before Harm broke for air. He looked at her lovingly.

"Sweet dreams," he said as he kissed the top of her forehead. He staggered to his feet and watched as a semi-awake Mac rolled over, trying to get a more comfortable position. He bent over her once again and kissed her on the nose. "I love you," he whispered before he ran off into the night . . .

* * *

"It's the White House," Webb declared with savage conviction, slamming his fist on the desk. "It _has _to be the White House."

"Webb, think logically," I snapped from beside him. "The White House is protected from every angle. Even though Lindsey and Harris have a bomb, there's no way they're going to get in."

It was true and Webb knew it. They had called security; an alert had been put out for Harris who had special clearance in the CIA and a similar one for Lindsey. Both faces were scanned in Interpol, their pictures posted over the news with the 'HAVE YOU SEEN THESE PEOPLE?' message branded across the bottom. Their descriptions had been broadcasted over the radio and still, no luck.

Webb inhaled another cup of coffee and looked at me pleadingly, noting that I too had an empty cup and was closer to the coffee machine. I rolled my eyes and took his cup with me.

"Webb!" the bark ran through the room. Webb quickly untangled his feet from on top of his desk and hurriedly stood as Admiral Chegwidden entered the room, behind him a team of lawyers that included Sturgis and Bud.

"Yes, Admiral?" Webb inquired, his tone light but strained. The glare AJ was giving him could freeze hell over.

"I assumed that when you said my lawyers were going on an investigation they would be coming back!" he hollered. The few people whose eyes weren't already on Webb and the Admiral turned around.

"We're encountering some minor difficulties," Webb replied through gritted teeth. On one hand, I was interested on how this would play out. On the other hand, we _really _needed to figure out where the bomb was targeted and as much as I hated to admit it – Harm, Mac, and Beth were no longer our top priority.

I stirred some cream into my coffee, pausing as my eyes roamed over today's paper which had been casually left on the counter. Obituaries, new tax passed (damn), new children's park on Young street has been opened, and . . . oh my god.

"Webb!" I hollered, forgetting all about the coffee. "You've got to see this!" I called at the same time another agent came into the office screaming, "We've found them!"

* * *

I woke up with a slight tingling on my lips and a wide grin spread across my face. My eyelids fluttered open, taking in the early morning light.

"Nice dream?" a voice asked from behind me. I turned around to see Beth leaning against the wall and . . . with a newspaper?

"The best," I replied, trying to make the smile disappear. I had dreamed – very realistically, mind you – that Harm had kissed me. I could vaguely remember seeing his dim figure shining through the light filtering in from the open door and as distantly as possible remembered him whispering to me that he loved me. In speaking of Harm . . .

"Where's Harm?" I cried, springing up from the floor and glancing one quick frantic glance around the empty-except-for-me-and-Beth cell.

"Gone," Beth replied calmly. "But he did leave us a little something behind." She passed me a folded article out of a newspaper.

_**PRESIDENT OF UNITED STATES AND SECNAV OF US NAVY WILL MEET FOR PRESENTING OF USS ANGEL**_

_On May 24th at precisely 12 o'clock, the SECNAV of the US Navy and President George W. Bush will meet aboard the deck of the USS Angel for the official opening of the long awaited ship. _

_The Ceremony of the Opening of the Angel will begin at eleven am and end at one. The Captain will be presented and his crew will be announced along with the President's speech and the SECNAV's._

_After the ceremony, the crew and captain will depart from the dock in Norfolk and set sail to join the Seahawk in the Atlantic. It will be expected to return here in another four months. The USS Angel will proudly join the United States Navy for what we hope to be a great many years. _

I opened my mouth and closed it several more times. "The bomb . . ." I trailed, grasping the paper in my hands. "It's aimed at the Angle and . . ." there was no need to explain. Beth obviously knew. "We've got to go for help!"

"I expect that's what Harm and Riley are doing right now," Beth sighed. "Harm was gone before I woke up. So was Riley."

"How do you know about Riley?"

Beth took something out of her pocket and waved it in my face. "They were nice enough to leave behind a key."

"Lindsey and Harris?" I questioned cautiously.

"Gone too," Beth replied.

"Then how do you know they didn't all leave together?" I asked quickly, but the other side of my mind doubted it. I had gotten through to Riley – I was dead sure of it.

"Call it a hunch," Beth replied. "And the fact that if Riley hadn't let Harm out, the key wouldn't be here nor would the newspaper."

I looked at her, then at the door, and then back at the key. "So . . . we're free to go?"

Beth nodded and the pulled something else out. "I raided the fridge. There wasn't much but," she grinned, "enough for five peanut butter sandwiches each."

I grinned at her. "Well, what are we waiting for?"

* * *

"Move!" I whispered hurriedly, drawing my gun in front of me and keeping my back to the wall. Five men from the FBI scattered to the far wall, each holding their guns at a distance too. I felt Catherine press herself behind me.

Over the radio the Admirals voice broke the silence. _"Team one, move on back, team two – back up team one. Team three – into entrance. Team four – back up team three."_

Catherine and I were of team three. I turned around to her. "Stay here," I whispered, about to crawl forward but Catherine grabbed my shoulder and spun me around.

"You're kidding." I gave her a hard glare, one which she eagerly returned. "I'm going in," she pressed and shunted past me towards the entrance, keeping her gun level with her shoulders. I swore under my breath and followed her.

All of Team Three stood on either side of the door, guns at the ready. I made eye contact with Sturgis who was on the other side and mouthed, 'One . . .'

There was the light click of bullets being pushed into guns.

'Two . . .'

The restless rustle of all of Team Three as they readied themselves up for what they were sure was to be a struggle.

'Three . . .'

Sturgis and I pushed forward at the same time, the impact of both of our bodies knocking down the door. I fell forward, splinters flying through the air, but Sturgis readily caught me with one arm and literally pulled me back to my feet. The rest of Team Three ran from behind us with their guns outstretched in their arms, hollering, "FBI!"

Complete silence greeted our calls.

We stood their, all frozen in various artistic poses with our guns stretched out in front of us. The leader, Agent Black, shot a glance to one of his junior agents and tilted his head towards the fridge. The agent moved forward and peered into the fridge. "Definitely being used," he confirmed. "Expiration date on the milk isn't for another two weeks."

Agent Black nodded and, again motioning with his head, directed five men down one hallways, another five (himself included) down one corridor, and Catherine, me, Sturgis, Bud, and two other FBIs down the middle.

There was no time for stealth, I figured, as I ran down the hallway with my gun stretched out in front of me. I could hear the clatter of Catherine's heels falling behind me at a quick pace.

And then I heard it. Voices. Two female voices coming from the door on the left. I turned around and motioned the door out to Catherine. She nodded. I backed up and then ran forward, heaving my shoulder against the door at the same time Mac on the other side opened with it at ease.

At first all I saw were stars as I hit the wall and then I could see the blurry shape of Mac bending over me. "Wheerreez 'Arrm?" I drawled out, speech utterly incomprehensible.

"Oh, Clay!" Mac cried. "They've already gone!"

"Whaaat!" I cried, sitting up so fast I blacked out again.

* * *

"The Angel," I whispered, awe etched in my voice. Riley and I stood on the side of the road, our thumbs out in a desperate plea for _someone _to stop. _Anyone. _Riley and I looked like Hell. I had been wearing the same clothes for the last six days and I was way past the 'Starting-to-smell' point. At least Riley had his selection of clothes – though that didn't stop them from being wrinkled. And we had no money – which pretty much ruled out a taxi.

"The Angel," Riley repeated with a sigh. "Biggest American ship ever made. Holds twice a big a crew as the Patrick Henry." He looked at me. "You ever been on the Patrick Henry?"

I chuckled. "A few times."

He grinned. "The Angel is one hell of a ship. It cost the Navy tons to build her. She's been their project for the last few years." He sobered slightly. "The President and the SECNAV on it."

"We've got to notify the CIA," I replied instantly. "The FBI too. They've got to get all over this."

"Commander," Riley replied and then turned to me, his expression changing. "Uh – _Harm – _it is nine o'clock, the ceremony starts at eleven. Exactly when do we swing by CIA headquarters in Langley and FBI in Washington in a car we don't have?"

"We'll call," I replied instantly.

"With a phone we don't have?"

"Payphone."

"With change we don't have."

God, the guy was exasperating. I really couldn't see exactly Lindsey and Harris kidnapped him. Throw him in a sewer – maybe. But keep him? Ugh.

"Look," I replied testily. "There's a car coming," I pointed to two headlights shimmering in the distance. "Let's not blow this one." Both Riley and I stood in the middle of the road, our arms out to ensure blockage.

We watched as the car slowed to a halt before us. The driver beeped his horn but I walked over to him, Riley still standing in the middle of the road so the car wouldn't drive off.

"Excuse me, sir," I began wearily. "But this is a matter of National Security and my friend and I," I motioned towards Riley, "_really _need to get to Norfolk." The driver looks at me as if I'm mad. "The Angel."

"I'm not a freaking taxi service," the driver retorted angrily. "I've got somewhere to be!"

I sighed discontentedly and motioned to Riley. He walked towards the car and from his belt pulled out the revolver. "We need to get to Norfolk. I assume you know where the Angel is being harbored?" The driver nodded. "Good," Riley replied, getting into the front seat and I in the back. "Then step on it."

* * *

We literally run out of the house and into the FBI vans. There are about – 20 people? – gathered outside. I see Bud and immediately run up to him, throwing my arms around him. I haven't seen him in weeks.

"Colonel!" he exclaims, looking flabbergasted. "Where's the Commander?"

"No time to explain," I replied quickly, jumping into the can's back seat and buckling my seatbelt. "We've got to get to the Angel."

"The Angel? As in the ship Angel?"

"Just trust me, Bud."

Bud looked at me and squeezed my hand. "With my life, Ma'am."

* * *

Rabb and I jumped out of the car as though on fire, I barely having any time to stuff my revolver in my pocket. The angry driver pulled his car out of the way but we took no notice. Already the port was teeming with people. It was like one massive Ciaro Café.

Most were military men and woman but there were hundreds of civilians too. And settling in the water was the large torso of the Angel. Rabb seemed to stand there, looking in awe at it – like an art collector might look at a Michelangelo.

And indeed, it _was _impressive. Greatly impressive. Its grey walls seemed to shadow the entire port, the waves of the water thumping and splashing against its shell and spraying idly on the dock. Along the side, in clear white letters, it was printed 'USS ANGEL'. The United States Flag flew freely from the top and in the morning light, the colors of the flag looked more pronounced, its fifty stars almost twinkling.

"She's a beauty, isn't she?" I said slowly, choosing my words carefully. Somewhere here, in this port, there was a bomb waiting to explode.

"Beautiful's an understatement, Aaron," Harm replied and then slapped me on the back. "Now come on, we've got a job to do."

* * *

We reached the Angel at ten o'clock. That was one hour until the ceremonies started, and two hours until the SECNAV and President boarded the ship to shake hands and officially (press wise) christen the ship. That gave us little more than an hour and a half.

I looked at Catherine who was staring out the window at the Angel, a blank look on her beautiful face. If worse came to worse and the Angel blew, I didn't want Catherine to be anywhere near her.

I felt something growing inside of me . . . protectiveness? I ruled against it. I don't feel – I _shouldn't _feel – like this. We're two agents – to CIAs – to spooks. Life like that would never work.

"Clay," Catherine said, unbuckling her seatbelt. "We're here."

She jumped out of the car and I turned to my side and saw Mac staring out the window, looking almost longingly into the crowd and I knew exactly who she was looking for. I rested my hand on her shoulder and watched her jump up as though stirred from deep thought.

"We're here," I whispered and she nodded, collecting herself. We both exited the vehicle.

"We'll inform security," piped up Agent Black. "Me," he turned to face his men, "and my team. Don't worry, Webb. We won't disappoint you."

"Wouldn't think of it for a minute," I replied, rolling my eyes internally.

They set out.

Catherine turned to me. "What are we going to do?"

I looked at her. "You and Mac are going to stay in the car. If I radio you to get out," my voice broke, horrible images flooding my mind, "then I want you to turn on the car and drive as fast as you can."

Catherine glared at me. "There's no way I'm going without you."

"There's no way I'm going without Harm," Mac interjected.

I sighed. "There's no way I'm going now if you two come with me."

I glared at both of them. Mac opened her mouth to speak, her features cross but Catherine stopped her. "Fine, Webb. We'll stay in the damn car. But hurry up."

I stared at her suspiciously. "You'll stay?"

"Yes."

There it was that not of defiance. Was she lying? I studied Catherine's features. It was quite possible. It would not be _unlike _her to do so. I sighed and turned to walk away. And then it came over me.

I turned back to where Catherine was standing – beside the car – and slammed my body towards her, fusing both our mouths together in one heart stopping kiss. At first her body was tense, and then it relented easily, both our hands grappling at each other's faces. Mac stood on the other side of the car, a mixture of emotions on her face – amusement and disgust.

I pulled back for breath from her lips and then kissed her on the nose. "I love you," I said brokenly before disappearing into the thickness of the crowd, leaving one stunned agent behind.

* * *

Harris grinned as he looked at the impressive turnout for the unveiling of the Angel. The President would be coming any moment now and the SECNAV wouldn't be far behind. Everything was going as planned.

His hand moved to Lindsey's and he rubbed her fingers softly. "Soon," he mouthed to her. "Soon."

* * *

**A/N: Well, that wasn't as good a chapter as I thought it would be. I'm sorry. But reviews would be great, anyway. The chapter after this one – I'm afraid – will be the last one. An Epilogue will shortly follow that. I will then begin working on my next story, 'Full Throttle'. I just wanted to say – before the end, that is – that you've all been really great for reading/reviewing. **


	25. Crying Angels

**A/N: Hey everyone . . . um, once again, I want to thank you all for being the great readers that you are. I'll keep this author's note short and to the point. Thank you all for making my first fanfic so enjoyable to write. I don't think it would have been nearly as much fun if I didn't have you all reviewing me. **

**Crying Angels**

The sunlight bathed the small port in Norfolk, projecting its warm bliss on the USS Angel. In the light, the Angel looked even more massive and impressive than ever before, its emblem gleaming brightly and its flag beating proudly against the wind. Around its waters, hundreds of people gathered, sheltering their eyes from the sun as they looked up at the awesome sight.

These were the targets for a bombing assassination. These were the to-be-victims of what could be considered a terrorist plot. These were the people whose lives hung in the balance of good and evil. And they knew nothing about it . . .

* * *

"So we're just going to sit her and wait?" I asked Catherine, who was still leaning on the same part of the van that Webb had – ahem – _positioned_ her on. For a moment, Catherine didn't say anything. She kept her eyes trained on the crowd, her blonde hair magnified in the sun's brilliance.

"No," she said softly, her blues eyes darting every which way. "Just watch . . ." she trailed and then suddenly jumped off her leaning position. "Okay, Webb's gone. Let's go."

"Webb left a long time ago," I replied, shooting my eyebrow up.

"Yeah, but he waited at the corner to see if we would stay."

I opened my mouth and then closed it again. That sounded like a Webb thing to do.

"Where are we going?" I whispered as Catherine ran off down the port, pushing her way through the thick mob of people, leaving me well behind in the dust.

"Onto the Angel, where else!" Catherine hollered, pushing her way past an extremely fat lady. I followed, trying to get my thoughts straight. _Onto the Angel? _But no one was allowed onto the Angel except for the SECNAV and the President!

"Cat," I cried, grabbing her arm and pulling her aside. "Just think for a moment. Stop and _think. _How the hell are we supposed to get on the Angel? They won't let anyone on. Not _anyone."_

Catherine sighed at me and pulled my arm off her. "Oh ye of little faith."

* * *

"The bomb's on the Angel," I said with absolute conviction as we stood at the back entrance to the port's Security Cabin. I watched as soft blue waves lap up on to the Angel's hardened walls and felt an increasing sense of urgency.

"Oh, I have no doubt about that," Riley said, heaving open the back door and falling through. I entered the lodge in after him. It was bare and wooden and held things such as life jackets and other things.

I stared at him. "What are you doing?" I picked up a lifejacket. "Are we supposed to float to the Angel or something?"

"Very funny," Riley replied sarcastically, throwing the lifejacket to the side. "But believe it or not, we _do _actually have a purpose here." He began to pace around the room, stomping at different sections of the floor.

"Wow," I replied leaning my back against the door. "I'm surprised." When Riley did not return any smart-alecky comment, I became interested. "What are you doing?"

"A dance routine," Riley shot back, his usual self reforming. He stomped on the floor once more, this time with both feet. He caught me looking at him again. "I'm looking for a trap door, idiot."

"Why, so we can _dig_ a tunnel to the Angel?"

Riley stared at me exasperatedly. "Look, can you just go wait outside? Knock if you see anyone coming."

"Because then you can hop into the tunnel and hide from the bad guys."

"_Go!_"

I shrug. "Fine," I then turned back. "But we're wasting valuable time."

Riley turned around as I left the room, closing the door behind me. "Don't I know it," he muttered savagely to himself, as he continued to stomp on the floor.

* * *

Webb stared at the Angel from the window of the Security Cabin. Somewhere on that ship there was a bomb just waiting to kill them all. The thought gave him shivers, his only comfort being that at least Catherine and Mac would be safe.

"Sir."

Webb turned around to face a short man dressed in the traditional Navy Security uniform. He was short, even shorter than Webb, with dark cropped hair and a thick moustache that was in bad need of some trimming.

"Yes?"

The man looked uncomfortable as he shuffled on his feet. "We sent a security squad out to the Angel just half an hour ago." He averted his eyes so that he was staring at his feet. "Um, Sir, there are no traces of a bomb."

Webb felt his anger surface to his skin and he bit back his tongue to keep him from verbally lashing out at the man. "Well, you're mistaken."

"Sir, the President is on his way here," the man said quickly. "And everything has already been checked over. I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"You're going to what?" I echoed in disbelief.

"Please, Sir. Security doesn't need empty threats." The man looked tired. "We already have enough on our plates. There is no bomb on the Angel. We already gave it a once over."

"Then give it a twice over!"

"Look, Sir," the man replied angrily. "We are busy now please take your crap somewhere else!"

Webb looked at the short fiery man and shook his head in disbelief. Webb turned around and had taken one step out the door before two voices caught his ears.

"Have you taken the crate up to the Angel yet?"

"No. I'll go do that just now."

"Well, hop to it you imbecile! The President's coming!"

Webb, his eyes alight with inspiration ran down the security steps and swiveled his head as his sight scanned over the crowd. The sun shone brightly overhead, causing Webb to squint. And then he saw it – the two crates with the black print stamped on them across the side 'ANGEL'.

Webb ran over to them, and knelt beside the largest one. It was almost as big as him. He surveyed the box. It would be painful for him, but . . . it had the potential to work. Webb ran his hand along the wooden planks of the outer framework and spotted the crack between the door and the crate walls. He smiled to himself and then dug his fingernails in, bending the door outwards and towards him. Pulling open the door, Webb looked inside the crate. It was dark and even the outer light didn't do it much good. Inside there was a rolled up red carpet for what Webb assumed as going to be used for the President and – as Webb deemed – other useless junk.

Clay shook his head as he dumped out the things and hid them behind the shack. It was amazing he wasn't caught but with so many people, no one paid any attention to anyone else. Clay surveyed the long thin crate, looked up at the sun, took in a fresh breath of air and climbed in, shutting the door behind him. He stood, uncomfortable bent, in the dark. Now all he had to do was wait . . .

* * *

Mac turned her head, looking at the Angel and Catherine, her expression magnifying the intensity of her disbelief. Catherine ran her hand along the rusted chain, wincing as it stung her skin.

"Well," she said briskly. "You first."

"You're kidding me!"

"What?" Catherine asked, innocently unperturbed. "They used to do it all the time in the olden days."

"I don't care about the damn olden days!"

Catherine sighed, rolling her eyes. "Fine. _I'll_ go first."

The chains connecting the Angel and the dock were thick, sure, but they were chains overlooking the water. Mac looked at them in disbelief. How the hell was she supposed to climb them? They were rusted and stung against bare skin. And they were unsafe.

Unfortunately, neither Catherine nor Mac care about those minor facts at the moment . . .

"No," Mac said, gritting her teeth and pushing herself in front of Catherine. "I'll go first." she grinned at her. "If I fall, I need to push someone down with me."

Catherine hit Mac. "If you fall, I'll kill you."

"Whatever," Mac called, climbing monkey style up the chain. She could hear whistles being blown from underneath them. Well, it would have been miraculous if they had climbed on the Angel and not have been noticed. That and it would have been an extreme disgrace for security.

"No, seriously," Catherine returned, gritting her teeth as she climbed up after Mac. "Fall, and I'll kill you."

* * *

"I cannot believe we're doing this," I gritted my teeth as I slipped into the scuba soot, adjusting the oxygen tank on my back. Riley, who already had his mouth bit in place and was now breathing out of borrowed oxygen, just nodded and then shrugged.

Trust Riley to know that all safety cabins keep extra scuba gear for investigation purposes. Trust Riley to know that they keep them in an underground vault accessed by a trap door in their one safety cabin. Trust Riley. A few days ago, I would have trusted him as far as I could have thrown him. But today was different. Everything about today was different.

I pulled the zipper up my wet suit and looked at Riley for some sign of nervousness but he was completely cool and rational. Very levelheaded. We stood at the edge of the dock behind the kayak rentals so we were rather out of the way of the public but not so inconspicuous that we didn't have a few people pointing in our direction. Riley completely ignored them and I did my best to too.

Riley pulled his mouthpiece out and motioned for me to do the same too. I followed his orders.

"Have you done this before?" he asked me.

"Once or twice."

"Okay then," Riley breathed. "Then just follow my lead."

And standing backwards, Riley slipped off eel like into the water. I stared at him, his body now a thin black line beneath the water. Riley surfaced and motioned with his hand for me to follow him. I turned backwards and followed suit, praying we wouldn't be too late.

In and out, that was the plan. It was simple enough. In and out . . . in and out.

* * *

Webb held in a groan as someone mercilessly threw the crate on the ground. He could hear the sound of voices but they were so slurred in his mind that he couldn't understand a word of what was said. _God help me, _he thought, his eyes closed. This idea was supposed to be good. _And virtually painless, _as an afterthought. He smiled slightly, at the irony of it all. The Angel was about to blow up in – ahem – how many minutes? Give or take three, about 20. And he was stuck in a wooden crate in its halls.

Webb banged on the front of the crate and almost surprisingly, the door flew open, spraying dust on Webb. Webb coughed and then sneezed into his sleeve, standing up on shaky legs. He looked around the room. _Where am I?_

He realized almost instantly. He was just beneath the deck. He could see the flight of steps leading up to the sunshine covered sky. He turned left then right and looked down the hall. _Now where the hell would said Phantom hide a bomb?_

Webb took one last look around the hallways and set off down the corridor. _Where the hell is it? We're running out of time!_

Webb breathed slowly, running fast. _What is the most opportune place for a bomb? _

_Well, it wouldn't matter, _Webb's more anxious side of the brain snarled back. _It's going to blow up the whole damn ship!_

_But where would it do the **most **damage?_

And then Webb realized it, almost instantaneously. The center of the ship. The maximum blow up the point. The one point where all the walls would cave in and the deck would come crashing down. The brig.

* * *

"We're on!" Mac gasped in relief, hurling her body over the side of the ship and onto the deck. Mac laid, her back on the wood looking up the side, and she let out a strangled set of laughter. The blue sky had a different color wash over it. It was no longer the clear blue it had been a half an hour ago. It was grey, a light sort of stony grey.

"Hey, if you don't mind!" Catherine called, her hands still clinging to the rusted chains.

"Sorry!" Mac replied, reaching over the side of the Angel and pulling her partner up, her mere actions pronouncing the fact that she really didn't care how hurt Catherine was right now, they had no time to spare.

Catherine pulled herself over the edge and then sat for a moment, just panting under the slowly fading sun. "Come on," she gasped, pulling herself to her feet. "We've got to go."

"Yeah, but where?" Mac returned, as they disappeared below deck, taking more shelter in the dark than they were in the light.

Catherine stopped. "Where would Lindsey and Harris plant the bomb?"

"Where it would do the most damage."

Catherine sighed, "which _is?"_

Mac ran her hand through her long dark hair, her eyes frowning. "The center of the ship. It'll hurt the Angel the most."

Catherine nodded and pulled Mac's arm behind her. "Well, we don't have any time to lose."

* * *

Riley broke the surface of the water, his blonde hair shining like a beacon surrounded by the dark blue depths of the sea. Beside him, Harm surfaced, looking thin and dark in the wet suit. Riley pulled out the mouth piece and Harm did the same.

"Where do we climb on?" he asked, spitting water out of his mouth at the same time.

"Platform," Riley replied back, pointing to the large jutting surface of a wired platform hanging to the side of the Angel. "She's not exactly quite finished yet. They were repairing her yesterday."

"Then how come . . ." Harm trailed.

Riley shrugged and both Harm and he cut swiftly to the water. Riley hoisted himself up onto the platform and then leaned over to pull Harm up. Climbing up the stairs, Riley and Harm entered the bowels of the USS Angel.

Riley began unzipping his wet suit and threw Harm the waterproof bag where they had put both their clothes.

"So, where do we look first?" Harm asked, unzipping his wetsuit as well.

Riley paused as he pulled on his shirt. "It would probably do the most damage in the center of the ship."

"So we're headed there?"

"Yeah."

Riley threw his scuba gear to the side and was about to head down the hallway when Harm stopped him by putting his hand on his shoulder.

"Aaron," Harm said his voice deep and sincere. "I'm sorry for all the trouble I've caused." The flyboy smile appeared on his face. "You're all right, you know."

Riley smiled back at him with a grin so bright it could have matched Harm's. "You're alright too, Rabb."

Harm and Riley shook hands and then slapped each other on the back. "So," Riley said, his smile fading into a more serious look. "Have any idea where the bomb is?"

And that's when they heard the voices . . .

* * *

"Webb!"

"Beth!"

Clayton Webb looked at Beth O'Neil with a mixture of surprise and shock. They stood in the brig, Clay dusty and rumpled, Beth only slightly dampened by the heat.

"How did you get here?"

"I could ask _you _the same question!"

"What's going on?" Riley barged in and then looked at the both of them. "O'Neil, how did you get here?"

"Who's here?" Harm asked, entering the room. "Webb!"

"Harm!" Webb cried back.

"_Harm?_" a startled cry came from the other end of the hallway.

Harm recognized the voice immediately. "Mac!"

"Mac's here?" Webb interjected. "She's supposed to be in the car!"

"Webb!" another startled cry.

"_Catherine!_"

"Who?" Riley interjected.

"Catherine's here!" Beth cried joyously.

"_Beth!" _Catherine exclaimed.

Almost immediately, the brig was filled with six people all talking at once.

"You and Mac aren't supposed to be here," Webb accused scornfully.

"And so much for getting help," Catherine retorted, eyes equally angry.

"I'm so glad you're okay," Beth exclaimed, interrupting Webb in mid comment.

"_You're_ glad _I'm_ okay?" Catherine echoed in disbelief. "_I'm_ glad that _you're_ okay."

"Alright, everyone!" Riley called through the noise. "SHUT UP!"

The noise instantly dampened and amongst the silence, the light sound of beeping was heard. Almost mechanically, all the heads in the room twisted to see a small compact thing jutting out of the wall. And it was flashing.

"The bomb," Mac whispered, moving slowly towards it. Harm grasped her hand and held her back, shaking his head quickly. Turning around, he called to Beth.

"Beth, remember when we were in Manila!" Harm called to her, facing the bomb.

"How could I forget?" Beth returned.

"You took care of the bomb back then," Harm said slowly. He looked at the crisscross of wires and the beeping lights. "Any chance you could do it again?"

Beth stared at the bomb, her face pale. Her fingers ran themselves over the colored wires while her face portrayed intense concentration. "Maybe." She turned her head towards Harm's. "But we've got to get out of here."

She spoke to the whole group now. "This bomb was handmade. It's different than others I've had to deal with. But it'll still have the same main power wire. But," she paused, looking at the group with dark determined eyes, "if I pull the wrong one, the Angel goes down."

Her words fell hard on the group. "So," she replied. "I want you all to jump." Shock followed her words. "No, _seriously," _she replied aggressively. "I'm not risking all your lives just because I screwed up."

"Well, we're not risking _yours," _Harm interjected. There were nods of agreement followed with his statement.

"If we jump, you're coming with us," Webb agreed almost immediately.

"But then we're all dead anyway because of the radioactivity!"

Riley stopped and then spoke clearly. "I've got an idea." The room quieted slightly. "You guys jump – " he stared sternly at Webb as he opened his mouth to speak " – and I will stay behind with Beth to deactivate the bomb. I've seen this kind of bomb before. I believe I can be of some help. But _not _with you all here."

"Aaron, you really don't have to –" Beth interjected but Riley interrupted her.

"You can't do this alone," Riley whispered savagely in her ear. "Let me help you." Beth looked into his dark and serious eyes, the eyes that magnified pure honesty. "For the good of the country," he whispered.

"For the good of the country," Beth echoed, her voice equally as quiet.

* * *

Harm wound his arm snakelike around Mac's, her body pressed near his. He turned to look at Beth. "Take care, okay?" Harm leaned over and kissed Beth on the cheek.

"You too," Beth replied. "Now get out of here."

Harm and Mac stepped forward to the edge of the Angel. Mac gripped Harm's hand hard and Harm returned her squeeze, giving her a smile to comfort her. "One," Harm whispered and he could feel Mac tensing. "Two . . ." Mac stole a glance at Harm's determined face. "Three . . ."

Both jumped. Webb, Catherine, Riley and Beth stared at them over the edge as both Harm and Mac's bodies broke the surface and began to swim for shore.

"You ready?" Webb asked Catherine and Catherine nodded, her face just a tiny bit pale. Webb turned around to Riley. "Hurry up with this mess, alright? We'll see you two on shore."

Riley nodded his face paler than Catherine's. "Goodbye, Webb."

Beth looked at Catherine, suddenly feeling bleary-eyed. "Catherine," she said, taking a step forward as Catherine and Webb – holding hands – stood on the edge.

"Yeah?"

Beth stared at Catherine for one hesitant moment before pulling her into a hug. "Don't leave it too late," she said softly and then before Catherine could ask what she meant, Beth withdrew her arms. "See you on shore."

"Right," Webb said, and then wrapped one arm around Catherine and then they both jumped, leaving Riley and Beth rooted in place.

"We've got five minutes," Riley whispered.

Beth turned to him, "You can still go if you want."

Riley stood in conviction. "I'm not leaving you."

* * *

Aaron Riley pulled the Angel out of its anchored position in the Harbor, his heart weighing heavy. _For the good of the country, _he reminded himself continuously. _For the good of the country._

Beth O'Neil sat in the Brig, her eyes not leaving the bomb for one second. Only the small black screen, written in broken red digits, the numbers began to decrease fast. They had only seconds left.

Standing up, Beth walked almost mechanically forward into the control room where Riley was steering the Angel into open water.

"How much time?" he asked softly.

"50 seconds now," Beth replied in a whisper. Riley slowly pulled his hands off the steering wheel and looked at the ground heavily. "There was never any hope," he said quietly, his voice comforting. "You couldn't have done anything."

Beth nodded sadly, and leaned her head onto Riley's shoulder. "I know."

Riley wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into a fierce hug. "You're so brave."

"10 seconds," Beth whispered.

Riley's eyes lingered on hers for one second, before he leaned in, his lips capturing hers for a brief moment. "Goodbye, Beth."

And from underneath the stony grey sky that enveloped Norfolk, a small explosion shook the water, as the Angel inhaled its last breath. Four people stood soaked to their skin on the edge of the water, tears rolling down their cheeks and dripping emotionally into the sea. And with them the sun poured its rays upon the remnants of the Angel, as universe and heart cried with them . . .

**_Epilogue soon to come . . ._**


	26. Epilogue

**A/N: Hey, everyone. This – obviously – is the Epilogue that I've been promising. After this story, I will write my second fic 'Full Throttle' which I hope you'll all read/enjoy. This chapter is dedicated to the end of JAG, may 'Fair Winds and Following Seas' give us the shipper ending we've been dying for.**

**Epilogue**

Through sea blue eyes, he looked at the tombstone, the silver carved words leaving a thick imprint on the granite. He ran his hands through his reddish-brown hair, just a shade lighter than his mother's and looked up at the grey sky that stretched out before him.

"Aaron!"

Eight year-old Aaron Riley Rabb turned around to see a small blonde girl tearing through the cemetery and unconsciously, a large grin broke out onto his face. The infamous Rabb smile. "Beth!"

Beth Catherine Webb slowed down as she neared the tombstones of Aaron Riley and Beth O'Neil which stood strongly beside each other on the hill in Arlington Cemetery. Behind the two of them, both their families walked behind at a slower pace.

Harmon Rabb wrapped his arm around his wife and gave her a reassuring smile which she quickly returned. In front of them, their three year-old son Harmon David Rabb III ran ahead, tripping over his own feet.

"Mac," Webb greeted, approaching them cautiously. He had his fingers entwined with Catherine's, whose stomach was – only slightly – visibly pregnant. "Harm."

The two families approached the tombstones. Harm closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of the air around him and the heat generating from Mac's hand on his own. Beside him, he could feel his two sons staring at him, and then at the great grey sky beating tremendously above them. The face of Agent Beth O'Neil floated above him, mirroring in his eyes.

_I'll always remember  
It was late afternoon_

Mac leaned her head slightly in to Harm's shoulder. The vision of Aaron Riley danced in front of her – his arrogant grin, his snide remarks, how he had given his own life to save them. She felt Harm's breath on the back of her neck and she held David's small hand in her own. She could never repay them.

_It lasted forever  
And ended too soon_

Aaron Rabb squirmed uncomfortably from his standing position. He stared at the silver carved letters. '_AARON D. RILEY_, _gave his life for the country in his heart.'_

_You were all by yourself  
Staring up at a dark gray sky  
I was changed_

Clayton Webb shivered slightly under his coat and looked at his wife through smoky grey eyes, and tucked a stray strand of blonde hair behind her ear. She smiled at him and he returned it, feeling the weight of the day fall on his shoulders.

_In places no one would find  
All your feelings so deep inside _

Catherine Webb stared at her daughter, whose appearance was a carbon copy of her own features. _Except for the eyes, _she mentally corrected herself. _She has her father's eyes. _She looked up at the sky, the wind blowing softly on her face and she thought she could see Beth's eyes glinting in between the clouds – and she smiled.

_It was then that I realized  
That forever was in your eyes  
The moment I saw you cry_

Harm and Mac shared a glance, and Harm reached over and brushed away a tear that was rolling down Mac's cheek, smiling at her. A strangled laugh erupted within Mac and she fell into his arms, biting back the memories that were tearing her apart.

_The moment that I saw you cry_

Catherine leaned her head on Webb's shoulder and rubbed her hand against her eyes. Webb pulled her body closer to him and sighed as their little girl moved closer them. Beth's angelic face masked Catherine's mischievous one, her grey use twinkling in the same mysterious manor as his did.

_It was late in september  
And I've seen you before_

Beth Webb stared long at the face of the tombstone, a complex emotion stirring within her. '_Beth O'Neil, lived the legacy of a true American patriot.' _

_You were always the cold one  
But I was never that sure_

The wind whistled suddenly, soaring up to the sky and everyone's head magnetically turned up to the clouds as the sun broke through the grey curtain and shone down upon the cemetery.

_You were all by yourself  
Staring at a dark gray sky  
I was changed _

In places no one would find

From up above the sky, two figures lingered, staring at the group of nine. One had golden blonde hair and water blue eyes while the other had long dark hair and almond-shaped brown eyes. Their hands held each other's, a grin on both their faces as they watched their namesakes departed, their last words echoing in both their minds - _for the good of the country. _

And the angels soared upwards towards the sun. Their legacy would live on, buried under time, encrypted with rich history. Encrypted Legacy.

_In places no one would find. _


End file.
